Fracture Mechanics
by unknown ghost author
Summary: How mechs and factions break apart, and the choices that drive both to their furthest limits. Realities for everyone are redefined and nothing is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

**Fracture Mechanics One**

* * *

"Ratchet!" Prowl squeezed through the medbay doors, slipping through as soon as there was space. Distantly, Jazz felt the whisper-touch of the _Ark's_ bulkhead skirt across his helm. He couldn't react, hanging limp in Prowl's arms.

"Ratchet!" Prowl hollered again. "Now!"

Ratchet cursed and ran. He clipped the medical cart at the end of Mirage's medberth. Tools crashed to the deck and skittered along the floor.

Mirage struggled up from his medberth, trying to catch a glimpse of his team leader. His optics flickered, underpowered, and his joints shook from the effort. Mirage collapsed back to the berth, grunting.

"Get him down on the medberth!" Ratchet snapped, reaching for Jazz's body.

Prowl set Jazz down as gently as he could. Still, large swaths of fluorescent energon streaked across his armor.

Jazz's arm, half crushed, flopped uselessly over the side of the berth. Terminal alarms on the medberth wailed above him. His helm rolled on the berth, flopping onto his cold dermal cheek, and energon dripped from his cracked lips.

"Frag," Ratchet growled. His hand gripped at the terminal housing, nearly cracking the frame.

The seizure gripped Jazz's body suddenly, tearing through his body. Jazz grunted, trying to force his processor to still. He was careening out of reality; sounds and sensations whirled by, the noises of the repair bay, the wailing of the alarm, Ratchet's curses and the echoes of the tools as he grabbed them from his storage cart. His frame was bursting, bursting with light and sound, and there was just too _much_ within his processor. He could feel his body seizing, shaking apart, and electrical currents were building in never-ending swells. He was being pulled under. Jazz's back arched as he lost control of his vocalizer, grunting static amidst shouts.

"Hold him!" Ratchet shouted. Prowl grasped Jazz's legs, trying to hold him to the medberth. Ratchet leaned down into Jazz's face, dropping close to his helm. "Jazz, just hang on! You're back on the _Ark_!"

Seizing, vibrating metal buzzed through the medbay. Ratchet grabbed blindly behind him for his kill switch. Jazz's seizures weren't stopping, and the alarms were wailing away, screeching higher as systems dropped offline one by one. His body was destroying itself from within, pressure and darkness consuming his internals.

Prowl's fingers laced through Jazz's, refusing to let go.

Jerking, Jazz tried to move away. The pressure within him was enormous, immense. It was suffocating, entirely, and he couldn't escape. Hands, touch, and pressure were on him, crawling over him, pressing down on his plating and from within. White-hot heat spread, pooling in processor before shooting straight to his spark.

Jazz screamed, shrieking gutturally as he clamped down on the hand that was holding his own.

"_Jazz!"_

"_Jazz!"_

"_Jazz!"_

As quickly as the pressures came, they vanished. Jazz was left floating, free-falling, drowning in a fading feeling of nothingness. Echoes rang through his helm, bouncing around cavernous spaces of the all-encompassing silence he suddenly found himself in. Jazz gasped, inhaling.

The hand that had held his own squeezed down hard, too hard. Jazz coughed, trying to breathe.

"Jazz…" He heard his name whispered, though it was distant, far off and foggy. The hand in his squeezed again, and it took every ounce of effort Jazz held within him to squeeze back. He inhaled, forcing air through his choking gears and dragging in a ragged rush of air. Even that took a Primusly-forbidden amount of effort, but the cloying darkness seemed to fade as he continued to breathe, and with each drag in of air, the dis-reality seemed to fade.

That hand, that ever-present hand, squeezed again, warm and strong against his palm. Jazz squeezed back.

Slowly, Jazz rolled his helm, fighting against the darkness. He rolled toward the hand that held his own and the gentle thumb stroking along his palm. He couldn't remember anything, not what had happened to him, not what had brought him to this state, or even what had come before this darkness. If he onlined his optics, though, maybe the _Ark_ would have answers for him. Prowl would be there. Prowl was always there. Prowl would know what he had gotten himself into this time. He'd be there with his stern, stoic face and a gentle squeeze of Jazz's hand, two opposing reactions to Jazz's daring and dangerous stunts and missions.

Resolved, Jazz worked to online his optics. Images of Prowl stroking his thumb over Jazz's palm firmed within his processor. Prowl would certainly rib him, but if he was online enough to feel his gentle hand-hold, then he had to be doing alright. His visor flickered as he worked to online his visual systems. Static erupted across his output, streaking in harsh and jagged white lines before flaring. Finally, after a lengthy pause, his optics and visor onlined, equalizing sluggishly. Too slowly.

Soundwave's blood-crimson optics, shielded by his visor, stared intently into his own.

Jazz jerked backwards. The hand holding his own clenched down, holding him in place. He stared down. Soundwave's large blue hand gently caressed his palm, his overlarge thumb rubbing up and down his plating. Jazz's visor surged, and he struggled against Soundwave's hold.

"Jazz!" That voice, that deep, rumbling and deathly monotone voice resounded through the small room, echoing through Jazz's processor.

"No!" he tried to scream, though his voice came out feeble and weak. He sputtered, his air intakes choking. "Get away from me!"

Finally, he jerked away from Soundwave's grasp, though his freedom had more to do with Soundwave letting go of him. Jazz rolled sideways in a tumble of arms and legs, his weak and under-energized body protesting every movement. He caught the pulse of wounded shock streak across Soundwave's face before Soundwave smoothed his expression back to his terminal stoicism.

Jazz tumbled off the edge of what he realized was the berth he had been laying on. It was a wide berth, a large berth, a berth big enough for two mechs, and with room to spare. He crashed to the floor, grunting, his weak vents thrown off cycle, and try as he might, he couldn't get his legs underneath him. He growled, gritting through clenched denta as he tried again to escape, to crawl away, to coordinate the right placement of hands and arms and legs to _just get up_.

Soundwave's foot falls drew closer, halting footsteps moving around the berth and back to Jazz's side. "What have you done to me?" Jazz hissed, breathless. He dragged himself away from Soundwave, forcing his body to move. "Where have you taken me?"

It was only when Soundwave stooped to Jazz's side and gently gathered him into his arms without so much as by your leave to Jazz's bitter protests that Jazz finally Soundwave's blast mask was retracted and his face was freely exposed. Jazz jerked, trying to free himself from Soundwave's arms.

Soundwave slowly lowered Jazz back down to the berth, helping him into a seated position. Jazz fought his every move, twisting and lashing out. He was going to fight, fight Soundwave with everything he had, even if all he did want to do was to lie back down. His body was screaming, his processor was racing, and the room around him was spinning out of focus. His equilibrium plummeted, and Jazz finally lost his balance. He tumbled, nearly off the berth, but Soundwave's hands caught his shoulders and steadied him, holding Jazz upright.

Soundwave knelt down, peering into Jazz's optics. "Jazz: recovering?" His voice was pitched low, too low, and it rumbled through Jazz's body in a visceral, primal way. Jazz's processor fixed on his voice, and his visor replayed the images of Soundwave's lips moving around the words. Against the berth surface, Jazz's hand started to tremble.

Soundwave exhaled, his optics dimming.

Jazz grunted, trying to shake Soundwave off as Soundwave's hands guided him to lie back down on the berth. Jazz tried to squirm, tried to fight it, tried to do anything he could to escape from the blue hands that were grazing over his plating, adjusting him just so so that he was perfectly comfortable. As if Soundwave_ knew_ how he were perfectly comfortable.

"Where am I?" Jazz hissed again, spitting at Soundwave with the last of his fading strength. All he could focus on was Soundwave's face, his blood red optics, and the tight line of his lips. The rest of the world faded away, spinning away to nothingness, and it was all Jazz could do to hold onto the berth.

Silence stretched long before Soundwave finally responded. "Home," he whispered. Soundwave inhaled deep, holding Jazz's gaze. "Jazz's location: home." The way Soundwave said Jazz's name seemed to hold all of the sadness of the world.

Jazz purposefully looked away from Soundwave. He wouldn't give his captor the pleasure of his bitterness, not any more. If Soundwave wanted to play games, then that was fine with him. Jazz's helm lolled to the side, and he found himself looking straight out the window of a second story room overlooking the wild plains of Cybertron leading toward Iacon. Stretched out before him, in all its magnificent, Golden Age glory, was the planet he had longed for for years, fantasized over in his daydreams, and had missed with such a passion that he didn't know he could feel. Cybertron… vibrant, alive, and _there_, physically there, not the dead husk of a world light years away from Earth.

He gasped, swallowing, and the faintest breeze filtered through the open window. The tungsten tang of rain, a sweet scent mixed with carbon and iron, tickled his nose. Jazz's vision swam, overwhelmed with the sensations assaulting him. Cybertron wasn't there; it couldn't be. He was on Earth, with the _Ark_, and so was Megatron and the Decepticons. Their planet had long been destroyed, burnt up, used out, and was floating in the dead vacuum of space. The Golden Age was eons old now…. And yet, there it was, teasing him once more.

A soft sound drew his attention, and despite himself, Jazz glanced over his shoulder. Soundwave was settling down into his chair again, placed right at the edge of the berth. Slowly, holding Jazz's gaze, he reached for Jazz's hand. Jazz watched in slow motion as Soundwave's blue hand drew closer to his black one, and then, as if it were someone else's hand entirely, watched their digits intertwine, linking together in a gentle hold.

"Location: home," Soundwave repeated. There was a deeper sound to his speech, an unknown and unidentifiable emotion crawling over his words. "Jazz: relapse will pass with rest."

Jazz didn't understand a word of what Soundwave had said, but the wind picked up, carrying with it the soft smell of the rain through the open window. Jazz whimpered, assaulted by all the memories he had of his old planet, and how desperately he wished, for just a moment, that he truly was back.

Soundwave spoke once more, whispering. "Jazz: not alone."

Jazz's optics crawled over Soundwave, searching his body, his gaze, and his exhausted, weary face. The thin lines of his mouth, the depth of his vents, and the tired, aching joints of a body that had sat in that chair for too many days and nights.

As Jazz's optics flew over his captor's body, Jazz noticed for the first time that Soundwave had no faction sigil. The purple crest, the emblazoned Decepticon sigil that was so proudly worn by all of the faction, was missing.

Jazz's helm rolled back toward the window, but he craned his helm down, searching his own frame. Before his world blacked out, rushing away in a roar of darkness and noise, he spied his own chest, white and pure and perfectly void of the Autobot sigil.

Soundwave's hand squeezed down on his once more, and then the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

Jazz woke alone.

He had no idea how much time had passed. The golden hues of the setting sun that burnt out over the planet's landscape had long ago faded, and only the swish of the nighttime breeze floated through the still-open window. The smell outside had changed, turning from the fresh tang of a new rain to the clean and heavy sweetness that followed Cybertronian storms. Burnt energy lingered in the atmosphere, the lightening aftereffects that had charged the energon farms for new crops.

Furtively, not wanting to chance any movement, Jazz searched the darkened room. His optics darted behind his visor, moving left to right in quick, jerking movements as he tried to not move, not vent, not even breathe. He didn't sense any mech near him, and he couldn't see any forms or hulking shadows in the darkness. Slowly, he tested his strength, starting with the simplest of tasks: a finger curl.

Jazz was able to curl his fingers fine and even managed to work his joint all the way up to his shoulders. Then, as he tried to test his legs, his struts protested, weakened and aching, and his knee joints were grinding in a way that suggested long term damage. Jazz grimaced, gritting his denta as he evaluated his options. What had happened to him? Where was he? How was he going to get back to the Autobots? Where in the universe were they?

He stifled a groan, forcibly offlining his vocalizer as he dragged his weary body to the edge of the berth and forced himself to rights. It took another several deep drags of air to work up the stamina to force himself to his feet. Pain surged through his body, fracturing his sensor net and spiking into his helm as his knees nearly buckled beneath him. Jazz whimpered, the faint sound overriding his vocalizer's command, forcing itself out with his harsh burst of expelled air.

Behind Jazz was a darkened doorway, leading to parts of his captor's building unknown. He hadn't a clue where Soundwave had taken him, and he couldn't even begin to hazard a guess. This fantasy outside the window was stunning, a gorgeous, verdant vista, but it had to be fake. Perhaps the Decepticons had such a soft spot and fondness for the home they had all left they had installed holo-projectors to simulate their environment? But no, Jazz dismissed that idea out of hand. The Decepticons had been the ones responsible for the devastation and destruction. Far be it for them to be maudlin over the society they swept aside in disregard.

Jazz stared into the shadows of the doorway for precious astroseconds too long. His processor was still too slow, still operating nanoseconds below its norm. His thoughts were swirling, refusing to focus on any one task or thought. If he could just _think,_ just reason his way through what was happening, he could form a plan. Plans led to action, and action led to freedom. Freedom led to home, which was where he _had_ to return.

He couldn't risk the doorway. Too many unknowns lay beyond it, from Soundwave to the potential entirety of the Decepticon army. Jazz was in no condition to take on even Ravage in his weakened, wounded state, and he didn't kid himself about the chances he faced on a surprise bid for freedom through the main complex of an unknown Decepticon hideout. He was good, yes. He wasn't Primus, though.

That left the window. The still-open window with the soft and cool breeze still wafting through. How could it have been left open so carelessly? Did Jazz's captors think so little of him? Did they truly think he wouldn't even attempt to escape? Wounded he was, yes, but surely, an open window next to a captive was an error of grand ineptitude. Jazz wondered who had made that folly. Soundwave was the first suspect that popped into his helm, as he had been the only 'Con he had seen, but Soundwave had never struck him as the particularly dim-witted sort. He had butted helms with him before during battles, during incursions, and had traded nasty software with the Decepticon 3IC during hardware attacks. He was intense and purposeful, but not an idiot.

Still, folly was folly, and Jazz wasn't about to chase a blessing down its circuit. He shook his helm, lost in his meandering and circling thoughts again, and idly wondered if he had a cracked processor or microchip up there somewhere. He ruthlessly shut that train of thought down as he prepared himself to stand.

No amount of girding his systems or holding his vents could have prepared him for the sheer agony of forcing himself to his feet. His knees ground on broken and shattered gears as his lines and cables chewed through the damage. He nearly collapsed, groaning in an explosion of breath as be caught himself on the berth edge. He froze, wondering - for an astrosecond - if being a prisoner wasn't all that bad compared to the pain in his knees.

Jazz stared out the window, letting the cool breeze waft over his face. No matter if it was a holo-image, it _felt_ real, and it felt meaningful. He forced his processor down a different path, and imagined Prowl, Prime, and the rest of the Autobots just outside, waiting for him, and then imagined his team was testing him, and they were in a race. He was just working through the final hurdle, and then this would be over. Drawing down, deep down inside himself, Jazz pulled out all the motivation he could find. He inhaled, holding his breath within in his engine, and forced himself to move.

Three agonizing steps brought him to the window's ledge. Finally there, he cursed, squeezing the window ledge as he struggled to stand. He was on the second floor of whatever building he was in. There were no lights illuminating the exterior, as was befitting a hidden enemy base. There weren't any hand holds or footholds, nor flashy architectural details that had been built into the exterior, as had been so popular on Earth. This was a standard, clean, efficient building, classic Golden Age styling.

If only the Decepticons hadn't been so thorough in their reimagining of their architecture, Jazz thought bitterly. He now had a choice, a painful choice. He could jump and risk landing on his badly damaged joints, or he could stay and wait to see what was forthcoming.

Jazz grunted, heaving himself into the window ledge. He breathed in, filling his intakes with the deliciously energized air. Finally, after nodding to himself, Jazz jumped. He pushed his body over the edge, rolling himself into a tight ball as he tried to minimize the impact, so sure to be jarring and awful.

He landed on his side, gracelessly sliding and skidding across the surface in a heap of damaged and torn metal, loose wires and streaks of fluorescent energon. His shoulder hit first, driving into the planet's surface and thick crustal plating with a tank-churning screech of metal on metal. His shoulder popped, dislocating with a crack. Wires fritzed and tore. Jazz's helm bounced, hard.

Light burst behind him, streaking out of the house he'd been captured in. Jazz shuddered, forcing himself to move, to crawl, to get away as fast as his broken body could allow. He gasped with the strain, his body burning, grunting at every effort. His one working arm reached forward, trying to haul himself away. If he just kept going, if he just kept moving, he'd be alright. He could do this. He'd been out of tighter jams before.

"Jazz!" A booming voice, frantic, deep and rumbling, bellowed through the night behind him. Jazz froze, powering down in an instant, trying to melt himself into the craggy surface of the planet, trying to make himself disappear amidst the mess of plating, wires, and hulks of metal tumbling over the landscape. Soundwave was there, behind him, calling for him. "Jazz!" Soundwave called again, his voice tinged with an emotion Jazz had not expected to ever hear from his enemy. He twisted, faintly rolling his helm a micron to glance behind.

That movement was his undoing. Soundwave's crimson gaze found him, and in an instant, he was racing for him. Jazz struggled, suddenly bursting with intention, with purpose, with need and desire and fury to escape, and began clawing at the surface. He willed himself to stand, to push forward. Growling, Jazz stumbled, falling forward more than running, only to catch himself with his good hand and start anew.

Soundwave's footsteps closed behind him, drawing closer. Jazz gasped, grunts of exertion grinding out of his vocalizer unheeded.

Soundwave grabbed him from behind, stilling Jazz's feeble attempts at escape with a tightly wrapped embrace. His arms wound around Jazz's waist, so tight Jazz could feel the warmth and thrum of his engine pounding within. He jerked, trying to break free of his captor's hold, struggling against Soundwave's grasp. Soundwave refused to let go, his hands traveling up to grip at Jazz's arms as he bent over double, collapsing around Jazz and bringing them both down to their knees. "Jazz…" Soundwave breathed, softly, that same rumbling depth penetrating the painful fog of Jazz's processor and spark. "Cease all attempts to escape."

"No!" Jazz shouted, still struggling. "What have you done to me? Where have you taken me?"

Soundwave said nothing, only swallowed behind Jazz and pressed his face against Jazz's destroyed shoulder. He sighed, a long exhale drifting over Jazz's plating, hot and moist. It sent shivers through his body, caressing his internals in entirely unforgiveable ways, in unknowable ways, and Jazz had the unwelcome and momentary flash of thought that he hadn't been that close to any mech in a long, long time.

"Jazz: ill," Soundwave finally said, his voice retuning to his normal cadence, even and rumbling in the depth of the baritone register. "Jazz: must return."

"Ill with what?" Jazz spat out. "What have you done to me?"

"Treatment: ongoing. Relapse will pass."

Jazz twisted, still trying to break free. "No! Let me go!"

"Cease attempts to escape. Further damage being created!" Soundwave's voice dropped, falling from his controlled and even cadence to the same tones of worry and faint fear that had stilled Jazz before. "Jazz: must return. Jazz: will be cared for." Soundwave's hands gripped down on Jazz's arms, squeezing him tightly. "Jazz… Trust me."

"Never! I'll never trust you!" Jazz spat, his lubricants mixed with energon bleeding from an internal rupture. He watched the purple spray graze Soundwave's plating.

"Favorite music: fusion wave. Birthplace: Tarn. Accent: Tarnian, though you moved to Iacon at an early age. Crackled energon: preferred to liquid." Soundwave spoke quickly, his words rushed, flowing in a too-fast beat for his even tone. "Jazz: close to creators and parents. Musical talents: supported."

Jazz shouted, forcing a burst of noise out from his vocalizer to drown out Soundwave's recitation of himself. "How do you know this?" he shouted, struggling anew.

"Soundwave: not the enemy!" Soundwave finally shouted in return, his voice briefly rising above his standard volume.

Jazz was stunned silent, again. Soundwave was different, odd, anything but normal, anything but the known enemy combatant Jazz had faced for years. This was surreal, unknown Nothing was right, nothing was normal. Jazz once again felt off kilter, thrown entirely off balance.

Soundwave spoke again. "Information: from Jazz himself."

"I _never_ told you that-"

Soundwave cut him off mid-sentence. "First meeting: thirteen vorns ago. Twelve vorns ago: first date. Ten vorns ago: engagement." Soundwave paused, his speech stopping abruptly.

Jazz froze in his arms, his trembles and bids for freedom instantly stilled. Soundwave's words tore through his processor, repeating. He couldn't think, couldn't process beyond the moment Soundwave had uttered those words. He and Soundwave… together? Impossible.

As suddenly as he had been clutched, he was released. Jazz fell forward, pitching to the surface inelegantly and landing in a sprawl. Hands reached for him, gently rolling Jazz over and scooping him up in a tender embrace. Soundwave's helm dipped low, and his face inches from his own. Again, Soundwave's blast mask was retracted, and Jazz could see the openness of his mouth, the parting of his lips, and could feel the tiny gasps of ventilations against his dermal plating.

"Six vorns ago: Jazz's… accident." Soundwave uncharacteristically stumbled on the word. "Jazz: must return home. Must rest."

Slowly, Jazz shook his helm, back and forth, not accepting and completely denying Soundwave's words, even as the proof of his statements were in his actions. Soundwave gently lifted his broken body, cradling him close to his chest, and after tucking his helm up underneath his chin, headed back to their home. Jazz's optics flickered, his vision shorting. His processor was screaming, refusing to accept, refusing to acknowledge. Inside, he was still spitting out violence and vitriol against the mech who literally held his life within his arms.

Soundwave paused at the building's entrance, shifting Jazz in order to palm open the doorpad. Jazz's gaze fell on a tall crystalline spire, a slender and tapered growth coaxed from a tiny planter. Small ornaments and bits of metal, nano-cloth, and wires were tied and hung at various intervals around the curved spire. Glyphs were pained onto the bits of metals, appeals to Primus, brief calls for healing, peace, and protection. It was a home talisman, a ward from evil to protect the house and all the mechs within. Jazz's gaze fixated on the spire. Was this truly home? Jazz refused to think the thought.

Soundwave carried Jazz within with gentle consideration. He maneuvered Jazz through the doorway, careful to not let him scrape against the doorframe.

Jazz didn't move, couldn't move. He was frozen in the arms of his enemy, cradled close and tenderly held. Jazz's optics drifted over the inside of the house, idly taking in their surroundings. Light globes were placed around the open lower level, and though only one was lit, together they could fill the room with a warm and welcoming glow. The one light globe was at the foot of the stairs, palmed on by Soundwave in a rush as he ran by, chasing after Jazz and his escape. A large table with two side benches was prominent in the room, and Jazz saw data pads, a few old energon cubes, and scattered styluses left on the table's surface. Life was present here; mechs lived in this house. But not him, not in this nightmare. He couldn't live here. He couldn't.

Soundwave lowered Jazz and set him on one of the benches, then moved away into the dim light. Jazz could hear him near the far wall, pulling at cabinets and containers. He was looking for something, and as Jazz listened to Soundwave putter and move things around, his anxiety skyrocketed again. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't _real_. This was some trick, and when Soundwave came back, Jazz was going to still be fighting.

His hand snaked out, reaching blindly underneath the table. His vents quickened, his optics surging. HIs fingers scrabbled, searching for anything. Finally - a closed container was bolted to the bottom of the table. Jazz's touch ran over its surface, searching. He found a hidden keypad, and slowly, Jazz began tracing the keys.

Soundwave appeared at edge of the circle of light cast off from the pulsing light globe, returning to Jazz. In his hand was a syringe, a one-time use syringe with a thick blue ooze deep within its core. Jazz's panic spiked.

Jazz reacted in an instant. His fingers depressed, and his hand closed around what he hadn't even known he had been looking for. He whirled around, swinging his arm up and holding the found pulse rifle pointed directly at Soundwave's spark. Jazz struggled, gritting his denta and working to hold his arm steady. Slowly, the pulse rifle began to tremble.

Soundwave froze, his visor flashing. "Jazz," he rumbled.

"Don't. Don't come near me," Jazz's voice, unlike his hand, was strong and steady.

Soundwave's gaze was focused on the pulse rifle. "Location of the pulse rifle: known?"

Jazz shook his helm, sneering. "I managed to surprise you, didn't I?"

Soundwave's gaze flicked up to Jazz, not speaking for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Pulse rifle: locked away and hidden. Location and locking code: known only if this is your home."

Admittedly, Jazz wasn't the mech to go to for impeccable logic. Prowl could out-think Teletraan 1 at times, and it was he who could reason, quantify, and rationalize his way through any problem. When that logic was used against Jazz, he was less than impressed. He responded to tight, factual logic in a way that always quirked Prowl's optic ridges sky high.

He responded likewise to Soundwave. "You're lying!" he shouted, emotions spiking high. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. As long as he repeated that thought, everything would be alright. "This isn't my _house!_ This isn't _my_ home! You aren't _anything_ to me except my enemy!"

Jazz watched the visceral impact of his words play across Soundwave's face. His visor flared, streaking white lines scratching across the visual input. It was one of the only outward signs of emotion Soundwave ever revealed. With his blast mask retracted, Jazz could see the intake of breath, the harsh slip of vents that accompanied his harsh, spitting cries.

Soundwave hesitated, glancing away. Finally, he spoke again, much softer. "Location and locking code: known only if this is your home." Soundwave's gaze flicked back to Jazz's in an instant, burning with intensity and quiet, unshed pain. "Jazz: set up hidden weapons locker."

Jazz's hand was shaking, his trembles having long since transferred into full body tremors cascading through his body. The weight of the pulse rifle was tearing at his shoulder, and it was all he could do in the depths of his spark to keep the rifle pointed at Soundwave's spark. His control was slipping, the strength of his cables failing him, and despite his angry grunts and inner demands to stay strong, his damaged body failed him completely. The pulse rifle fell from his grip, clattering to the floor.

Silence filled the lower level as neither Jazz nor Soundwave moved. Jazz growled, gritting his denta and forcing himself to remain standing, despite the swaying, tilting vision in his helm and the flashing warnings of imminent shutdown screaming from his processor. Nothing was making sense, and his processor kept tripping over Soundwave's words. He had set up that hidden rifle locker? Is that how he had known to reach for it? Knew the code, even? But that would mean this was all real, and that just couldn't be true. Could it? No!

Nothing was making sense anymore, and Jazz's thoughts were swirling, crashing and cascading into each other. His processor was overheating, and with a faint gasp, Jazz crashed to the floor, his legs weakening beneath him until he fell. Jazz whimpered, curling in on himself.

In an instant, Soundwave was at his side. His blue hands floated over his plating, fluttering over his form, as if afraid to physically touch him. "Jazz…" Soundwave's monotone was no higher than a whisper, breathed out softly. Jazz curled deeper around himself, trying to block out the fantasy masquerading as reality around him. He couldn't fight this, not this imagery of domestication and normalcy. His enemies were physical, real combatants in his war. This was a falsehood, a nightmare, a nothingness that trapped his mental energies. He'd wake up soon, wake up in the repair bay and be back to his reality soon. This nightmare had to end.

Soundwave reached for Jazz's arm, slowly rotating the joint until he exposed the sensitive side seams running along his torso. Just inside was a main energon line, running from his engine to his spark and processor, and then throughout his body. Slowly, Soundwave pulled the syringe up against Jazz's plating, positioning it for injection.

"No…" Jazz whimpered, pushing his forehelm into the ground. His world was fading and everything was spinning wildly out of control, but out of the corner of his visor he could see Soundwave move toward him with that unknown syringe. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't want any part of it. Even if this was a nightmare, a disreality, a fantasy of his own fractured processor, he still wanted to fight. He still wanted to control his own body in their nightmare. "No…"

Soundwave stilled, meeting Jazz's optics. He held up the syringe, pulling it away from Jazz's side seam. "Jazz will rest: no injection. Promise."

Rest sounded fantastic. Slowly, swallowing deeply, Jazz nodded, his helm scrapping against the floor. Soundwave sighed, exhaling as his hydraulic joints eased. He rose, dropping the syringe carelessly onto the table surface above them, then scooped Jazz up into his arms again. Jazz rolled limply in his grasp, rolling until his face was pressed against his broad chest. He inhaled, smelling the intimate and unique scents that were exclusively Soundwave: his paints, his oils, the slight burn rate of his engine, the lubricants within his gears. It was _different_, so different, from all the smells he knew in the past… and yet… there was something there. Jazz couldn't place it, but his processor futilely tried to stir, tried to place this seemingly familiar scent. That thought, the spinning up of his drives in his already overworked, damaged and overheated processor caused a sharp lash of physical pain, and Jazz whimpered against the reaction.

"Jazz," Soundwave admonished, squeezing his body tighter within his arms. "Rest." Soundwave carried Jazz up the stairs, and Jazz could faintly see that it was an open loft, with the overly large, _single_ berth pushed against the far wall, near the corner suite of windows. What he had thought had been just one open window had in fact been multiple; Jazz had simply been too damaged to see the entirety of the stunning amount of windows overlooking the wilderness and the panoramic view of the entirety of Iacon, set back at a distance. Likewise, the doorway Jazz had sensed was so ominous was in fact the beginning of the stairwell. Soundwave had likely been in the lower level, perhaps at the table itself, when Jazz had made his ill-planned and poorly executed break for escape.

For the second time that evening, Soundwave laid Jazz's body gently out upon the berth's surface, positioning his body in the tiny little ways that seemed to indicate that he knew just how Jazz needed to be to be comfortable. Jazz couldn't help the tiny moues and gasps as his body began to shut down entirely, systems offlining one by one as they reacted to the soft and soothing electrical hum of the berth beneath him and the implicit feeling of safety. How disingenuous, this feeling of safety, as Soundwave's face hovered over his.

"Jazz: rest," Soundwave repeated, his monotone voice softer than a whisper. Soundwave pulled back, sitting once more in his chair at Jazz's side.

Jazz watched his every move. "Are you staying?" his voice was cracking, his vocalizer half shut down as he spoke. Static lay beneath his words.

"Affirmative," Soundwave finally answered. "Staying: always."

Jazz nodded and rolled his helm away from Soundwave. He hadn't the slightest clue whether he should feel elated or horrified, comforted or terrified at that thought. In a blissful instant, he didn't need to think any longer. His damaged processor forced him offline as it started up its self-repair routines to defragment the damaged and corrupted mainframe within.

All the while, throughout the still and silent Cybertronian night, Soundwave sat by Jazz's side. His crimson visor hummed, pulsing as he watched Jazz's slowly repairing body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fracture Mechanics Two**

* * *

Jazz onlined slowly, his visor flickering as he struggled against the pull of recharge. He wanted to stay offline for hours, stay in the warmth of the berth and the relaxation of his recharge, but something was dragging him out. Jazz grunted as he twitched, his helm lolling to the side.

Once again, the image he saw as he onlined his visor was Soundwave's steely face, peering down at him.

This time, Jazz didn't recoil in horror and terrible shock. He cycled his optics, trying to ensure that this wasn't a dream, that he was truly still there with Soundwave. His memories of the night before thundered through his helm, pouring in all around. How could any of this be true?

"Hello," Jazz croaked. A part of him still believed that he was a captive and that he was wound up in a massive game or new trick of the Decepticons. Another part of him was struggling to believe that this could be true, that his life could be entirely different from everything he had known. Still another part of Jazz just wanted to forget the whole thing entirely and drift back into recharge.

Soundwave's gaze softened. "Hello," he intoned back. "Jazz: feeling better?"

Jazz shifted on the berth. He was still stiff and sore, but that was most likely his own fault. His wild escape from the house had been ill-planned and desperate, and he was now reaping the benefits of those actions. "I'm sore."

Soundwave nodded. "New injuries: created last night." He turned away, gazing down at Jazz's legs, but Jazz could still see the frown that creased his face. Jazz was torn suddenly with the feel of needing to apologize. Soundwave had sat at his side all night long, again, by the looks of things, and Jazz had gone and made his condition worse.

Jazz pushed those thoughts away bitterly. He owed nothing to Soundwave. Nothing.

Soundwave stood, still not meeting Jazz's gaze. "Energon: required at this time." He nodded and turned away, moving down the stairway to their lower level. Jazz rolled over and propped himself up, peering over the side of the loft. He could hear Soundwave moving down below, and saw the flash of blue plating in a far corner he hadn't seen the night before. Soundwave was pulling at various bins and shelves, gathering empty cubes up and depositing them in a reclamation bin before reaching for new cubes further down. A small regulator carton hummed nearby, and Soundwave reached inside, withdrawing a twisted and gnarled solid stick of crackled energon. He shuttered the carton, saving the remaining energon crackle sticks and leaving them in their protected space. Crackled energon was so much more delicate than the standard liquid form, and had to be preserved at similar temperature conditions to where it was harvested from around the planet. Soundwave collected his cube and the crackled energon and placed them both on an oblong disk before moving back toward the stairway.

Jazz watched it all silently, taking everything in.

He flopped back down onto the berth as he heard Soundwave head back up to the loft level. Jazz frowned. He had expected Soundwave to make some sort of move, some sort of signal or notification to the rest of the Decepticons about Jazz's condition or some report to Megatron. He hadn't. Instead, it had seemed the picture of domestic life. Jazz would have to watch him again later.

Soundwave met Jazz's gaze as he moved toward the berth. Jazz stared back, refusing to smile. Anxiety built within him as Soundwave drew closer. Finally, Soundwave was at his side once more, and he set down his tray before picking up both the cube and the energon crackle. Holding Jazz's gaze, Soundwave took a sip from the cube and then a bite from the gnarled, crackling energon stick. Bursts of electricity flashed around his denta as he bit down, sparking around his mouth.

Jazz frowned as he watched Soundwave lower both back to the tray. "Which one is mine?"

"Either. Proof provided: the energon is not tampered with." Soundwave scooted the tray to Jazz, letting him select what he wanted.

Jazz froze. How had he known that that was what he had thought? That all along, he had been sure that that Soundwave was tampering with his energon, that he couldn't, wouldn't trust anything presented to him? Jazz swallowed, forcing himself to reach for the energon crackle. "Thank you," he choked out, not meeting Soundwave's gaze.

The energon crackle exploded throughout his mouth, fiery bursts of electricity and warm liquid spraying over his glossa and across his denta. It was warm, full of conduction, and the energy contained within slid over his lines and into his tank. Despite himself, Jazz sighed, his optics dimming in bliss. Energon crackles were his absolute favorite, and it had been such a long time. Or had it?

Jazz's optics onlined, and he pushed himself up as he gripped the energon crackle between his denta. Soundwave helped Jazz prop himself up against the wall behind the berth before leaning back and grabbing his own cube.

Silence settled over the pair. Jazz took another bite from his energon crackle. His crunching was too loud in the silence of the loft. Soundwave sipped at his energon cube, not looking at Jazz.

Finally, Soundwave dropped his half-finished cube on the tray. "Permission to continue repairs?" He didn't look Jazz's way, instead gazing down over his damaged legs. One of Soundwave's hands stretched out, his fingers tracing over Jazz's unhinged lower leg plating.

Jazz finally noticed the small tools and softly woven nanocloth down by the edge of the berth. He remembered being pulled from his recharge gently, the feeling of hands and touches across his lower body teasing across his sensor net. Soundwave had been repairing him, gently working to repair his self-inflicted damage. Jazz didn't know how to process the information on top of every other inprocessesable fact. Jazz wanted to resist, to remain firm in his holding of the line, in his resolution to fight this battle of deception. And yet… part of him was failing, part of him was falling. Part of him was teasing with the idea of wanting to believe that, somehow, this twisted reality could possibly be real.

Slowly, Jazz nodded, jerking his helm up and down, once. Soundwave immediately leaned over his plating, escaping Jazz's gaze. Soundwave's hands brushed against Jazz's internals in just such a way, sending a wave of sensation across his sensor net. Jazz jerked, shivering at the touch. Soundwave's lips quirked upwards at the edges, the faintest hint of a smile grazing his face. His visor lit up, warmth pouring out of the formerly uncertain crimson optics. "Tickles: . . ." Soundwave began, "attempting to avoid." Soundwave's helm tilted just so, glancing up at Jazz.

Jazz froze, skewered by the tenderness of Soundwave's expression and the gentleness of his words. The tender humor was reminiscent of an inside joke, and Jazz was overwhelmed with the need to respond. He simply had no idea how. Instead, he stared back at Soundwave, holding his gaze in confusion as his mouth worked silently, trying to form words in response to Soundwave's uncommon gentleness.

Slowly, Soundwave's optics dimmed, the warmth slipping away, and the worried, guarded concern slipped back into place. He turned back to Jazz's legs, his expression closing off, as if he'd revealed more than he had wanted to.

Jazz stared out the open windows, beating back the ridiculous feeling of loss and guilt that sprang up deep within his spark. Jazz flat out refused to speculate any longer on what was occurring. He simply let himself go, allowing Soundwave's gentle hands to work over his repairs and let his optics gaze over the splendid vista of Iacon's energy spires, rising out of the planet's surface. Sunlight streamed over the dark plating, casting an obsidian glow over the planet's wild surfaces stretching between their isolated home and the city's borders.

* * *

Jazz grunted as he sat down at the bench in front of the rectangular table in the lower level of their home. Soundwave's hands never left him, helping to steady Jazz before he moved away. Jazz's vents heaved. Their short walk from the loft and down the stairs had been draining, and only one of his knee joints had been repaired by Soundwave. The other still ground and pinched, but Jazz had had a sudden attack of cabin fever and had to get out of that space. He had been intending to make it all the way outside, but the table was progress enough.

Soundwave turned to the far side of the room, over to where he had been rummaging in the darkness the night before. Jazz could finally see a built-in shelving unit with data pads, knickknacks, terminals, and storage cubes scattered throughout the large grid-like shelves lining the far wall. Soundwave pulled out one of the storage cubes and removed a syringe and a vial of the viscous blue gel, the same as the night before. He turned and moved back toward Jazz.

Jazz froze, his visor flashing. What was that blue slime? Why was Soundwave trying to spike him with it repeatedly? Was that what was holding this fantasy in place? Was that what was keeping him drugged and unaware? Slowly, Jazz's body began to fight, tensing and resisting the inevitable forced injection.

Soundwave dropped the syringe and the blue vial on the table behind Jazz. The vial rolled, clinking until its motion was stopped by a stack of neat and tidy data pads, a stylus lying across them. Jazz watched the vial carefully before reaching out and plucking it from the table's surface. Soundwave sat next to Jazz, facing him.

"What is this?" Jazz asked, turning the vial end over end and watching the slime slowly ooze down the vial's edges.

"Painkiller. Taken only if requested." Soundwave watched Jazz play with the vial.

Jazz stared hard into Soundwave's optics. "I do not want it."

Soundwave nodded, his lips thinning to a straight line. "As always," he droned, then looked away. "Subspace: where you keep the painkiller in the past."

Jazz watched Soundwave as he pulled the vial into his subspace. It only brought him a brief moment of comfort, the momentary victory. His optics darted over their open space, sweeping across the wide walls and empty floor. Aside from the shelves against the wall and their table pushed slightly off center, there wasn't much in their lower living area. Jazz frowned and turned his gaze to the data pads on the tabletop. He pulled a stack toward him, onlining the top one and beginning to read. Mathematical data assaulted him immediately. "What is this?"

Soundwave tilted his helm. "Current project. New musical composition."

Jazz frowned. "You were working on this?"

"We."

Jazz inhaled, looking away. Meaningless numbers and algebraic equations stared back at him, unfolding in ever decreasing fractals and decimals. "I don't understand," Jazz murmured, frowning.

Soundwave leaned closer, his shoulder grazing against Jazz's plating. He tapped at the display, sending the equations away and drawing up a new screen, this one filled with notes and scales and harmonics. Jazz frowned. "Is that the circle of fifths?" Jazz recalled the equations from moments before. "Are you trying to perfect the temperament of the tuning scales?"

Soundwave briefly met Jazz's gaze. "We," he intoned once more. "Composition attempts to tune as the music unfolds. The piece: perfectly tuned at every note. Deviations across the scale: eliminated."

Jazz boggled. "This can't be playable. No processor can work that fast."

"We:" Soundwave stressed again, holding Jazz's gaze. "Succeeded."

Jazz's optics slitted. "No way," he drawled.

Soundwave's lips quirked upwards once more, barely smiling. "Proof: required." He stood, then turned to Jazz and held out his hand, beckoning him to stand. Jazz hesitated for only an astrosecond before placing his hand in Soundwave's palm and allowing himself to be pulled upwards. Soundwave smiled again, that near-unnoticeable smile, and drew Jazz close, letting him lean into him for support. Soundwave's hand fell to Jazz's lower back, unnoticed, and he helped them both to the center of their lower level.

Jazz watched, a disbelieving smile on his own lips as Soundwave worked the controls at a large terminal display embedded into the wall. The windows tinted suddenly, darkening the bright ambient light flooding their lower level to near darkness. Holo-globes of light appeared, hovering all around, each one a different color. Diagonal lines stretched upwards and outwards, interrelated lines of harmonics and scales represented in floating holographic form.

Jazz swallowed. He had never seen such a beautiful holo-fone. He reached out, his fingers gently pushing against the nearest holo-globe, a small blue orb. A perfectly pitched note, middle octave A, resounded.

"This is unbelievable…" he murmured, glancing around the holo-fone in all its intricate glory. "I've never seen one this large. How many scales, keys… Primus, there are so many." His hand stretched out once more, grazing against an entire scale before pushing back against the harmonizing scale in a different key and tone.

Soundwave watched Jazz silently. "Holo-fone: built for Jazz," he finally, moving behind him. Soundwave reached over Jazz's shoulder, brushing his fingers against a holo-globe for a long note. His other hand rose, joining the first on a harmonizing pitch. Jazz was pinned in between Soundwave's two arms, facing Soundwave with his back to the holo-fone. The holo-fone encircled them both with their multi-colored orbs of musical light.

"Remember," Soundwave whispered, and Jazz didn't know whether Soundwave was speaking to himself or to Jazz. All he could do was watch, transfixed, as Soundwave began to play their music, carving out the notes from the very air around him as he played against the holo-globe keys. Notes flowed from everywhere, pitches and octaves perfectly tuned and intertwined, cascading over each other in perfect harmony. Jazz sighed as Soundwave's arms brushed over his plating as he played their symphony. The music poured through Jazz, invading his body and shooting straight to his spark. It crawled through his lines, spiking through his internals, reforming everything within him in time with the beats and harmonics of the melody. He moaned, spinning around and facing the holo-fone as he leaned backwards against Soundwave.

Soundwave reached down, stopping his performance briefly and griping Jazz's shoulders. "Remember," he intoned once more. His hands rose, resuming his melody.

Slowly, as if pulling the knowledge from a place not within himself, but deeper than himself, Jazz began to truly hear the music. He saw the notes, flying across his processor, picking each apart and understanding its place within the whole composition. From understanding bred prediction, and slowly, the entire piece became visible within his spark and processor. Jazz shuddered, dragging in a harsh breath before his arms rose, moving in tandem with Soundwave's and harmonizing their melody. His hands moved over the holo-fone's globes, and as the melody unfolded, the harmonics of their shared piece drew their motions into synchronicity. They moved as one, each pulling out a different chord of the music.

Behind him, Soundwave's engine rumbled, and he moved behind Jazz, pulling his body well within Jazz's personal space. Jazz's vents hitched, and he leaned backwards, resting against Soundwave's broad chest. Their music continued to thrum through them both, visceral, shaking both mechs to their core. Jazz let go of all thoughts, simply allowing himself to _be_ the music and allowing it to penetrate his spark and processor. A deep, profound sense of tranquility, thrumming with potentiality and the possibility of perfection, thrummed through his spark.

Slowly, sadly, the music tapered off, the midrange single notes dancing over the longer bass notes as Soundwave's and Jazz's two melodies diverged, holding their own counterpoint to each other's musical dance. Jazz's hands flew, flashing and caressing the holo-globes as his line of harmonics began to fade. Soundwave's hands dropped, stroking tenderly over his bass line until their harmonics faded away entirely.

For a long moment, neither mech moved. Jazz's vents were too light, too quick, and they puffed silently in and out of his mouth. Soundwave was still right there, right behind him, his chest burning against Jazz's plating at every micron. Finally, Soundwave's lips brushed over the top of Jazz's helm and his hands rose, gently griping Jazz's shoulders.

Jazz shuddered, pulling away from Soundwave. Soundwave's vents hitched, a low sound catching in his throat as his optics flashed. Jazz pushed his way through the holo-fone, and the tinkling notes bouncing as he rushed past their hovering glowing bodies. "Jazz-" Soundwave began, his vocalizer choking with static.

Jazz groaned and buried his helm in his hands, slumping just beyond the glowing boundaries of the holo-fone's floating orbs. Soundwave stared at him, his mouth open, his hands opening and closing futilely.

"We met…" Jazz began, physically grunting the words past the constriction in his throat. "At the Iacon Musical Hall…" He shook his helm, still buried in his hands. "You were… the new musician. I…" Jazz gasped, flinching, before his helm shot upwards. He stared back at Soundwave, his visor flashing.

"Jazz: sang." Soundwave's vocalizer was filled with static.

The world spun all around Jazz as his vents heaved. Darkness and a cacophony of noise thundered through his processor, shattering his tenuous hold on all that he had held to since he had awoken in the berth with Soundwave beside him. Memories, fractured images, scratchy and filled with a foggy darkness, cascaded through his processor in fleeting bursts. Images of music, of the Iacon Music Hall, its grand entranceways and gilded interiors and perfect acoustics, merged with his first memory of Soundwave. The tall mech towered above the others, teasing out the melodies from his musical instruments as Jazz and ensemble sang away. Memories of songs, an endless variety of songs, all leading to a single, a solo, a performance solo before a packed audience. Soundwave was his musical accompaniment. The first time their optics met. The hall fading away. Singing only to him. Soundwave's beats pulsing into his soul. The thrum of his spark as their harmony stretched on, and on, and on….

Memories crashed together, each more fragmented than the last. Jazz tried desperately to reach out for them, for the content of his life just so elusively out of reach. He couldn't hold on, though, and the images and emotions slipped through his processor as fluidly as they arrived. Whispers and shadows were all that remained, impressions and echoes of all that he could have once known.

Soundwave stepped forward, trying to move through the holo-orbs to Jazz's side. Tinkling musical notes filled the air once more.

Jazz recoiled, glaring at Soundwave. "Stop," he hissed, his vocalizer shaking. "Just… leave me alone!"

Soundwave froze, one hand outstretched toward Jazz. "Jazz…"

"Just… Don't." Jazz's vocalizer continued to tremble. "I need some air." His processor was spinning, his helm was reeling, and he just needed to get away. Jazz pushed by Soundwave, barreling towards their front door. He frantically palmed it open, slapping repeatedly at the control panel until it let him outside. Jazz tumbled out, feeling the warmth and heat of the sunlight against his plating and the wisp of the wind around his body. He gasped, dragging in a deep, ragged breath of Cybertronian air before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Behind him, Soundwave stopped in the doorway, staring out at Jazz but keeping his distance.

Jazz slumped forward, nearly pitching his helm down to the ground. The wind continued to graze across his back, gentle and warm. Slowly, he looked up, tilting his helm toward the sunlit sky and the thin atmosphere. His optics traveled over the wispy clouds, stretching in thin lines across the sky. On Earth, it had been different. On Earth, the atmosphere was thick and rich, and the clouds were full of water vapor and rain, tumbling across the planet in wetward bounds. The sun blazed across the planet, gifting all manner of life to the organic forms. Here, the sun was further out, and the Cybertronians had had to eek out a living with the lower energy threshold. Nonetheless, they had.

Although... Even as Jazz remembered Earth, pictured the landscape, thought of how long it had been since Cybertron had had its own sun, the memories were cast aside as false. As fake. As products of a broken processor. Fractured memories were still tumbling through his processor. Could this truly be real? Could this truly be his life? Memories warred with memories, battling for supremacy. His years on Earth. His years with Soundwave.

Jazz pushed himself up, struggling to stand on his own two feet. He turned back, glancing over his shoulder. "I need a walk," he called to Soundwave, his vocalizer cracking. Soundwave merely nodded, once, his helm grazing the edge of the doorframe as he leaned bodily into it, as if the house was the only thing supporting Soundwave's entire being. Jazz turned and moved away, beginning to walk around the exterior of their house.

Primus, if all of this was true… Jazz was torn between grieving his old life and relief over his new one. Which was truly his old one. _This_ was his life… right? Images of the _Ark_, his crewmates, Prime, Prowl, the twins, Mirage, Bumblebee, everyone, all played over in his processor. Who were they, truly? Who were they in his life? Were they even in his life? Or were they only phantoms, ghosts, sensor echoes and false memories created by his damaged and broken processor?

Jazz couldn't remember anything about the accident that had so seriously injured him. He tried, trying to squeeze hard onto the few memories that were reaffirming themselves within his processor. Images of Soundwave were overlaid with sweeping performances, the grand opulence of the Iacon music hall, his status as a vocal celebrity. And then… darkness. Nothingness. Try as he might, Jazz couldn't remember just had sent him into this wild state of being, this vortex of unreality.

He stumbled forward, circling around the side of their house to the rear. The wilderness of the planet stretched wide, far and away from their tiny home. Dotted off in the distance were other similarly isolated homes, all living far from the bustle of the main cities and provinces and eeking out a living from the wilderness grid and off the main planet's lines. Jazz stopped, staring off at the horizon, and sighed heavily. The wind picked up, gusting through his plating, and he offlined his visor. Cybertron… it was here. It was _alive. _What had made Jazz create a fantasy world, a nightmare world of war, devastation, tyranny and destruction? What had sent Jazz's fractured processor into the nightmare reality of a destroyed and offline world, a shell of this vibrant planet? As much as Jazz had fought his memories of Earth, the _Ark_, and the war, he could not deny that this, right here, on Cybertron, was so vastly, vastly more meaningful than any moment on Earth. Cybertron was _alive_. And it had only ever been dead in his memories, his fantasies. His nightmares.

Jazz rolled his helm and slowly onlined his optics. His gaze caught on a small crystal garden, set aside from the house and half in the shadows of their home. He crept over to the patch of wild spires striving for height and craggily growing out of their electrified mineral beds. Jazz's hands gently brushed across the tops of the delicate spires. His thoughts instantly turned to Prowl.

Prowl… oh dear Primus, Prowl. What in the Pit had he done? Who was Prowl? If Jazz was here, with Soundwave, and Soundwave was his lover, his mate, slag, perhaps even his bonded, then _why_ was he falling for Prowl in his nightmare? _Who_ was Prowl? Had he ever truly met him? And what did it mean that he had these feelings for another mech… even another fantasy mech?

Footsteps fell softly behind Jazz, then stopped several feet away. Jazz inhaled, recognizing the sounds of Soundwave's body and movements. He turned his helm, speaking over his shoulder. "You are not a crystal tender." His voice held a faint note of ironic teasing.

Soundwave accepted Jazz's unspoken invitation and moved closer. His visor brightened. "Never before. Following your accident: stress release required."

Jazz smiled sadly, very softly. "Crystal tending? I'd go for pounding it out with my servos. This would give me so much more stress." Primus, how many times had he watched Prowl tend to his own desktop miniature crystal bed, trying to coax the last few crystals in the universe back to life? It had always driven Jazz crazy.

Soundwave's helm tilted to one side. "Destruction: not desired. Too much already present." Soundwave's visor dimmed. "Tending: occupies the processor. Displaced care allowed an outlet." Soundwave moved to the edge of his crystal bed, his own hand tracing up the tallest, delicate spire. It only reached to Jazz's waist.

"Displaced?"

Soundwave frowned as he crouched down, his hands still traveling the length of the crystal. "Following the accident: you… did not desire my presence. Nor care."

Jazz frowned. He wanted to ask so many questions, needed so many answers. Why hadn't he wanted Soundwave's care? Why hadn't he wanted his presence? Why had Soundwave stayed by him? He inhaled deeply, holding it in his engine too long. His engine rumbled, burning suddenly hotter. "Why?" Jazz breathed.

Soundwave's hands grazed over one of the gnarled protrusions at the base of the crystal spire. It was craggy, pockmarked, covered in metallic dust and windswept grit. Soundwave wrapped his hand around the base, around a bulbous protrusion, and twisted. The knob broke off with a gentle crack, cleanly cleaving itself from the parent spire. Soundwave rolled the knob over in his hands, still not looking at Jazz, and pushed at its base.

Finally, he spoke again. "Jazz: considered me an enemy." His voice was hard, distant, hiding as much emotion as he was ever capable of.

Jazz felt his words like a physical blow against his body. His engine roared; his vents choked. Soundwave had said before, this wasn't the first time he had awoken this way, screaming vitriol and violence at Soundwave and ranting about him being the enemy. A "relapse," Soundwave had called it. Had he been lost in this nightmare since his accident? Had he been accusing Soundwave of evil since then? For six vorns? How could Soundwave have stayed through all of that? Jazz was filled to the brim suddenly with an overwhelming amount of shame, physically choking his throat closed and burning behind his optics.

Soundwave remained crouched down, still poking at the knobby crystal. He blew at it, sending a small dust cloud flying through the air, then tapped the knob against his other palm, gently. Chunks of dark, dead crystal, the protective outer layers covering the progeny crystal offshoots of the main spire fell away, revealing an almost unbelievably delicate starburst crystal, devoid of color, pure and glimmering prismatically. Miniature spines spread out from the fractional center all around, protecting the very delicate electrical spark potential within the nucleus of the crystal. If it had fallen from the parent and embedded within the charged ground, a new crystal spire would have arisen. Soundwave stood, holding the tiny proto-crystal in his palm delicately before turning and offering it to Jazz.

The proto-crystal looked so much like an actual spark that Jazz was momentarily stunned by the symbolism and significance of such an act. He stared open mouthed at the glowing, shimmering proto-crystal, beautiful and unblemished, before forcing his gaze to Soundwave.

Soundwave held his stare, looking at Jazz as if he were more beautiful than the proto-crystal balancing in his hand and glistening as if the center of the galaxy were contained within his center. His gaze never wavered from Jazz, and as Jazz reached out a shaking hand to pluck the proto-crystal from Soundwave's palm, the corners of his mouth turned up gently, delicately, into his miniature smile.

Jazz's breath caught in his throat, clenching around his gears as he tried to swallow. "Thank you," he whispered, refusing to look away from Soundwave's gaze.

Soundwave inclined his helm, once. The wind picked up again, brushing around both of their bodies and tinkling through the crystal patch, creating a hauntingly familiar musical melody. Jazz's plating crawled, pricking all over as his processor replayed the notes and harmonics against themselves, over and over and over again.

* * *

Much later, Jazz leaned heavily into Soundwave as the two mechs made their way up their stairway to their loft. Jazz was bitterly exhausted. His energy levels were drained nearly to depletion, and he hadn't even done anything throughout the day. Soundwave had protested Jazz's protestation, saying that Jazz had indeed been working hard at self-repairs, and his processor had been working overtime with reasoning through his life and memories. Jazz couldn't truly fight back against that.

They had spent the better part of the afternoon sitting outside, letting the sunlight warm their plating as Jazz stared over the pristine landscape. Jazz stared out over the landscape, his optics roaming over Iacon, as if he could memorize every building and form within his mind.

They had gently talked to each other, winding through the afternoon on conversation and debate. Jazz asked about Cybertron, about what was happening, the current politics, the senate, the leading council, who was Prime. He needed to know everything. Everything made it real. Soundwave responded with all the information he could. Jazz absorbed it all silently, filling the holes in his mind back up with all the knowledge of his reality. It helped to firm it all, put it all back to solidity within his mind.

Soundwave also revealed that a psychologist, Jazz's psychologist, was coming to see them the next day. He told Jazz that he had treated him before and knew everything about their situation. Soundwave seemed certain that the psychologist would help Jazz, and Jazz found himself in the odd position of automatically trusting Soundwave's judgment on the matter. He was looking forward to the visit.

As the sun set, casting Iacon into brilliant shadows and streaks of copper and obsidian flashes of darkness and light, Jazz's strength had finally begun to wan. Soundwave helped him up, and they both moved back inside their house, Jazz still clutching the baby crystal he had held onto all afternoon. Soundwave left Jazz resting at their combined table while he fetched a cube, which they split lopsidedly. Jazz drank most of it, though Soundwave snagged a few sips each time Jazz pressed it insistently back to him.

Finally, they were upstairs once more, and Soundwave gently led Jazz back to the berth. He laid him down, helping Jazz to stretch out comfortably along the berth's surface. It hummed to life, a gentle pulse of warm electricity lulling Jazz's systems into a comfortable lassitude. Jazz sighed and shifted, relaxing into the berth as his visor dimmed. Soundwave's face hovering over his, smiling softly, was the last image he saw before he let his optics dim to blackness. The proto-crystal glimmered on the berthside table, still pulsing with an ethereal glow.

Next to Jazz, sounds of shuffling and then a tired grunt sounded in time with the scrapping of chair legs. Joints creaked as Soundwave settled himself into his chair at Jazz's berthside, and Soundwave let out a tired sigh as he stretched his legs.

Jazz's optics popped back online. He chewed on his lower lip briefly. He knew what he wanted to ask, could hear the words forming and replaying in his processor, but it was simply too impossible to get them to travel down his throat and out of his mouth. He sighed, frowning.

"Status?" Soundwave's question immediately followed Jazz's explosive exhale, questioning Jazz's comfort and whether he needed anything. Jazz frowned harder and rolled onto his side, meeting Soundwave's concerned gaze. He froze for a moment, but finally reached out his hand.

"Join me," Jazz croaked out past overly tight gears in his throat. "This is your berth, too." Jazz nodded, convincing himself of his own words. "You shouldn't have to sit in that chair." Soundwave's dedication absolutely floored Jazz. He didn't know if he could have that same dedication to any mech in his situation. He just wasn't sure that his spark had that fortitude, but the fact that he was loved enough to endure the dual nightmare they were plunged into was enough to simply stop his spark in wondrous awe.

Soundwave froze, every gear in his body tensing. "Your comfort: desired above all else."

Jazz smiled. "I know. And… I want you to join me." He pushed the words out in a rush of hot air and an explosion of breath.

Soundwave's optics flared. His vents increased, steadily picking up both depth and speed as his breathing worked faster through his engine. Jazz's hand delicately rested on Soundwave's knee, a pinpoint of burning sensation against both of their plating.

Finally, Soundwave spoke. He nodded. "As you wish." His vocalizer was deep, rumbling. Jazz felt a shudder run down his entire back, and warmth surged out of his spark to swirl in his tank. He rolled to his other side and scooted across the berth surface, his back to Soundwave.

Soundwave lowered himself into the berth, his movements stiff and overly controlled. He lay perfectly straight at the edge of the berth, not moving a single micron closer to Jazz.

Jazz shifted, intimately aware of Soundwave, only inches away. He could sense him, feel the pull of his body, the warmth of his plating. He tensed, waiting for Soundwave to move closer to him, to shift Jazz into his arms. When Soundwave didn't move, Jazz frowned. His legs twitched, his helm shifted, and his plating crawled again.

Jazz had enough after only a few minutes of impenetrable silence and choking anticipation. He had never been good with uncertainty. Jazz reached behind him, blindly groping for Soundwave's body. A clang, then a soft grunt told him he had found Soundwave. His hand patted down, recognizing Soundwave's chest and then his arm. Finally, he found the larger mech's hand. He hesitated, and then wound his fingers through Soundwave's and tugged.

Soundwave hadn't breathed, hadn't moved at all as he had touched him. When he tugged, Soundwave exploded, a heavy sigh pouring out of him as he moved instantly, erasing the gulf separating the two of them on the berth in an instant and drawing up close behind Jazz. Jazz gasped, squeezing tight to Soundwave's hand as Soundwave gathered Jazz into his arms and folded himself around Jazz's back. Their linked hands fell over Jazz's waist, resting against Jazz's abdomen. One of Soundwave's thumbs reached out gently, stroking along Jazz's white abdomen.

"Jazz…" Soundwave breathed over Jazz's neck. Jazz shuddered and pushed back, melting into Soundwave's embrace. Soundwave tucked his face into the crook of Jazz's neck. "Rest," he whispered softly, his thumb stroking over the back of Jazz's hand.

Slowly, Jazz's systems powered down, one by one. Gentle warmth and a peaceful lassitude permeated his entire being. His last action before falling into blissful recharge was to nuzzle his helm back against Soundwave, and a pleasant, sleepy murmur, followed by a gentle kiss pressed against his neck, carried him away into the darkness.

* * *

_"Jazz…"_

Jazz shifted and tried to move away from the touches and the voice that was trying to make him online. He hadn't recharged nearly enough, and he wasn't ready to online yet. He grunted, tossing his helm to the side.

Pain flared to life, bursting across his frame. Jazz gasped, instantly online. His optics flared to life, and his visor flashed white as his systems surged.

Prowl's worried face stared down into his own, overly bright optics too close for comfort. Jazz recoiled.

"Jazz!" Prowl reached for his helm, gritting his denta.

"No…" Jazz whispered, static-filled. Speaking was painful, and he shook his helm as he tried to shake away the images before his optics. "No, no no no no…." Jazz grunted and squirmed, offlining his optics and looking away. Prowl reached for him again, but Jazz shook his grip away, balling his hands into fists. "Soundwave…."

"Jazz, stay here," Prowl shouted. "Stay here!"

"No…" Jazz whispered. Fog was pouring into his processor once more and he welcomed it, surrendering into the fog that would take would away from his nightmare, his horrible unreality, his fantasy of a world gone mad and a destroyed, offline Cybertron. His nightmare of a world without love, of a life without the unconditional and unending love Soundwave held for him. A terrible life of destruction instead of music, of pain instead of crystals. "No," he whispered again. "I don't want to be here… You aren't real… you aren't real…" His face twisted as he _wished_, as hard as he could, for his life back.

"Jazz!" Prowl's voice shouted as Jazz's world blissfully disappeared, fading into darkness and oblivion before reforming all around him.

A gentle hand held his own, wrapped around his waist as he lay on his side on a double berth, facing a series of windows that overlooked the night skyline of far off Iacon. Jazz gasped, exhaling in relief as he squeezed Soundwave's hand.

Soundwave murmured behind him, pulling Jazz against him and nuzzling his face against Jazz's helm and neck once. It was warm, and it was alive, and Jazz kept repeating in his helm that _this_ was his life. _This_ was reality.

_This_ was love.

* * *

_This is the song that Soundwave and Jazz are playing: (I did not make this; the clicky is for utube, so plug that in before the linky bits) / watch?v=AuVoWi_YziQ _

_I chose this version (though its not pretty to look at) over the others because it is only the guitar lines, and I wanted that melody to be what they harmonized. Enjoy!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Fracture Mechanics 3**

* * *

A hand stroked up Jazz's arm, lightly tracing his plating. Jazz smiled and leaned into the warmth pressed up against his back. Gentle lips pressed into his helm, lingering on one of his audial horns. "Mmmm," Jazz breathed. A soft rumble sounded behind him.

"Status?" Soundwave's voice, too deep, resounded over his shoulder. Warmth flooded through Jazz, a deep well of contentment springing up from his spark at the sound of Soundwave's voice. In his nightmares, in that other, cold, war-torn reality, Soundwave's voice was cold and monotone, all harshness and angles. Here, it was rich, melodic, and full of intricacies and warmth. It was still level, still even and haunting with a slight echo, but it was simply _everything_ to Jazz. He nuzzled backwards.

"I'm alright," he whispered. It was dark outside, and in the distance, the lights of Iacon twinkled in the pre-dawn stillness. He inhaled deeply, staring out across the vista. Soundwave stroked over his arm, up and down, oh so gently. Jazz rolled over, turning to face Soundwave.

They were lying on their sides, their plating touching from helm to feet. Soundwave's crimson optics were dim, pulsing softly, and his blast mask was once again retracted. A small curve of a tired smile turned the corners of his lips. "Your improvement: much desired," Soundwave whispered. His expression was open, completely unguarded.

A thousand sensations struck Jazz, from thankfulness to wonder and awe to shame to the faintest flutters of his spark, falling in love. How could Soundwave care so much for him, so much so that he would put Jazz before all else, even himself, no, _especially_ himself? And when Jazz was so broken and useless to him? What power of emotion, what depth of feeling had created this? Primus, how had he been blessed with such a lover? Jazz tried to speak, but his gaze darted over Soundwave's face as his throat closed, the gears tightening too forcefully.

Soundwave's optics darkened, and he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Jazz's forehelm. The first streaks of light from the rising Cybertronian sun appeared, bursting over the horizon in brilliant pyres of reflected rays. Jazz dimmed his optics, leaning into Soundwave's kiss. He whimpered when Soundwave finally pulled back, his hands on Jazz's shoulders. "Time for energon," Soundwave intoned, his voice pitched low.

That wasn't what he had been expecting. Jazz's visor hid his small frown. He had been certain Soundwave was going to kiss him, really kiss him, and then who knew what else? Jazz wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that, yet. His processor and spark had seemingly accepted that Soundwave was his lover, his partner, his mate, and the mech who loved him more than he thought it was possible to love another. Still, some part of him was anxious, terribly so. He just couldn't _remember_ anything, and he couldn't remember falling in love with Soundwave in the first place.

In truth, though, it almost didn't matter. His spark was already falling in love with him all over again.

Soundwave squeezed down on his shoulders briefly as his expression closed off. "Wait here," Soundwave intoned again before moving out of their loft and heading downstairs. Jazz waited as told, relaxing into the berth with a small sigh as he rolled over and stared out over the planet's surface. Sunlight was streaming in as dawn broke, illuminating Iacon in all its towering majesty. Their windows stretched across the entire wall, showcasing the breathtaking beauty without interruption. Below him, Jazz could hear the soft puttering of Soundwave, grabbing their morning energon.

He sighed again. The stillness, the quiet lassitude of the morning was permeating his spark, and if this wasn't bliss, then he didn't know the meaning of the word.

Soundwave's footsteps padded back up the stairs. Jazz flopped over onto his other side and scooted away, giving Soundwave room to sit on the edge of the berth. He snagged the energon crackle Soundwave brought. "Thanks," he said before biting down. Soundwave smiled at Jazz's dim-optic'd expression of happiness as he chewed his way through his energon.

Jazz's optics powered back up, and he caught Soundwave's smile, and the softness of his gaze. Slowly, Jazz smiled back, and the moment stretched between them and amidst the sunlight for an indefinable amount of time.

* * *

Jazz plucked at the seams and rivets dotting their table as Soundwave stood to answer the door. He swallowed, purposely not watching his lover. The door chimed again, politely announcing their visitor.

Jazz's psychologist was here. Jazz just wished he could remember anything about him.

Soundwave paused behind Jazz. His hand dropped to Jazz's shoulder. "Jazz:…" Soundwave's voice caught in his throat. "This part is difficult for you."

"What do you mean?" Jazz looked up, searching Soundwave's gaze.

Soundwave opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it with a slow shake of his helm. The door chimed softly again. Still, Soundwave didn't move from behind Jazz. Jazz kept his optics locked on Soundwave's, his spark pounding furiously.

Finally, Soundwave turned back to Jazz. "Jazz: Your strength is fully believed in." With that cryptic comment, Soundwave moved away from Jazz.

Jazz's jaw fell at Soundwave's short pronouncement, and it had only made him all the more confused. Soundwave turned, holding Jazz gaze as he palmed their door open.

Thundercracker's frame filled the doorway, his blue wings stretching wide and blocking the sunlight from filling their home. Harsh angles and shadows stretched through the doorway, cutting his dark profile against their floor. Red optics pulsed brilliantly, piercing into Jazz. "Hello, Jazz," Thundercracker said softly. "May I come in?"

Jazz's spark seized, the gears in his entire body locking into place. His throat constricted, and he couldn't speak, couldn't say a word. Rushes thrummed throughout his system, his body automatically prepping for a fight with his recognized enemy.

Soundwave sighed, a small, defeated sound slipping from his vocalizer. Thundercracker tossed Soundwave a small smile as he stepped slowly inside. The door slid just behind him, locking Thundercracker within the house with Jazz and Soundwave. Jazz's visor flashed, though he still said nothing.

"I must say, Jazz, this _is_ an improvement," Thundercracker's voice carried an undercurrent of gentle humor. His hands spread as he spoke. "There were times I couldn't ever dream of getting this close to you." A small smile played over his face. "As you can see, I am unarmed. I know you do not remember me yet, but I am positive that will change as you regain your memories. I'd very much like to talk with you today."

Jazz continued to breathe heavily, short, harsh pants exploding out of his vents. His body trembled, and his hands clenched tightly into fists. His entire being screamed out to launch himself at Thundercracker and to strike, to beat him senseless, and to leave him offline.

His gaze flicked over to Soundwave, hovering behind Thundercracker, his hands balled into fists. Their optics met, freezing together. Why had Soundwave brought this enemy here? He had thought Soundwave was going to help him. Jazz frowned, and Soundwave looked away quickly, barely masking the hurt that flashed across his features.

"Do you remember what happened the second time we met, Jazz?" Thundercracker stepped forward one step. Jazz's optics locked to his instantly, raking over him and glaring, trying to force Thundercracker to stop his movements.

Thundercracker waited patiently for his response.

Jazz shook his helm.

"You launched yourself at me with a furious battle cry and tried to rip out my vocalizer." Thundercracker's lips quirked upwards, softening his harsh words, and he spoke as if he were relaying a fond memory.

Jazz frowned. Thundercracker pressed on. "Every time we've met after a relapse, you have fallen back onto the belief that I am your sworn enemy. We could look at this morning, and your hostility toward me, as a horrible setback." Thundercracker's optics flicked over to Soundwave. Soundwave was trying to disappear as he slumped against the wall. "Rather, I think that this morning is a stupendous step forward. You haven't tried to kill me at all yet today." Thundercracker smiled, holding his hands out to Jazz. "I believe that everything we are doing is having an effect, and that you are trying, in your processor, to find the pathways to rebuild the framework of your reality. You are doing so _well_, Jazz." Thundercracker was still smiling. "Let's keep working together. Alright?"

Jazz's vents heaved, panting hard. Primus, what could he believe? He _wanted_ to believe, so much, that everything was going to be alright and that he was going to okay. He thought back to last night, and his slip from Soundwave's arms and back to his… manufactured reality? His nightmare? Whatever it was, he had slipped back, and for that moment, terror and horror had suffused into his entire being and his spark. For that moment, he had wanted, with all of his spark, to be back here, in Soundwave's arms, and within _this_ world, _this_ reality.

If this reality was real, then what did that mean for everything he thought he knew? If everything he thought he knew came from his other life, his broken life created out of a fractured, broken processor, then what did he truly know at all about this place? What did he truly know about Thundercracker?

Jazz inhaled deeply, trying to disperse the anticipation thrumming through his frame. His spark was screaming dual commands, equally loud and equally draining. _"Attack!"_ it shouted. _"Danger!"_ Right alongside, and just as powerfully, his spark was reaching out for Soundwave. He offlined his optics, dimming his visor as he dragged in another ragged breath of air. When he onlined his optics, his gaze was fixed on Soundwave's, his lover's optics already piercing into his own.

"What happened the first time we met?" Jazz choked out, slowly turning his helm back to Thundercracker. "You said I tried to kill you the second time we met. What about the first time?"

Thundercracker nodded, a small, private smile on his face. "It was right after your accident. I was hoping to help you deal with the trauma. You were… unresponsive. We didn't actually communicate at all. You were still very uninterested in help."

Jazz chewed on his lip. "Was I unconscious?"

"No." Thundercracker shook his helm. "You were conscious. You were … distant." Thundercracker hesitated. "We… believe that it was then that you were beginning to construct your escape."

"Escape?"

"From your accident. From your pain. From reality." Thundercracker's gaze was soft, along with his voice. "You didn't try to attack me the first time we met because you hadn't constructed your fantasy reality yet. You hadn't cast me as a bitter enemy. You hadn't created the full continuum of your fantasy reality and all the characters within. By the time we met again, I had already entered your reality here as an 'enemy,' and was thus cast in the literal role of an enemy in your fantasy. That fantasy became your escape, Jazz. Instead of fighting shadows and pain _here_, you can fight tangible enemies _there_." Thundercracker's face twisted as a wry smile tugged at his lips. "Those of us you weren't too happy with ended up as your literal enemies."

Jazz stared, horrified, at Thundercracker. Slowly, his optics dragged over to Soundwave. His lover was looking down, sideways, anywhere but at Jazz. "Why?" Jazz's vocalizer cracked on the sound.

"I'd love to discuss this with you, Jazz. May I join you? May we all sit and talk?" Thundercracker tried to recapture Jazz's gaze. Jazz started, his optics snapping back to Thundercracker, and after a deep inhale, he nodded jerkily.

"Thank you, Jazz," Thundercracker said softly, nodding as he moved to the other side of the table and sat opposite him.

Slowly, as if afraid of Jazz, Soundwave crossed the room as well. He hesitated before slowly sitting down next to Jazz, but refused to look his way.

Jazz waited three astroseconds before reaching out and grasping Soundwave's hand firmly between both of his own. Soundwave gasped, choking the sound deep in his throat, and squeezed back.

Thundercracker watched the whole exchange, another small smile on his lips. "I really think we've hit a fundamental point here. This entire morning has been exceptional, truly exceptional. I know to _you_, Jazz, it feels dark and confusing and dangerous. But you have just accomplished in a few breems what it used to take cycles, even orns, to get to before. You've never once been able to accept that this is your reality in one sitting before. Not once. Now, you did it in less than joor. On top of that…" Thundercracker gestured to Jazz and Soundwave's conjoined hands. "What can I say to that?"

Jazz stared into Thundercracker's optics. It was so different, oh so different from everything he thought he had known. Here, there was no pain, no fighting, no terror every day. There was kindness, consideration, care, and even love. His hands squeezed down on Soundwave's again, hard. "I want," he began, choking out the words through too-tight gears. "To be free of this fantasy. I want to be _here_. I want to have my life back." He nodded, as if convincing himself of the truth of his words. "Can you help me?"

Thundercracker nodded. "I can, Jazz. We've been working toward this for six vorns now. I have never, not once, been more certain that you were on the cusp of healing than you are now. I, and Soundwave, have always believed in you. But now, _I_ believe that _you_ believe in yourself."

"How do we do this?" Jazz leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table, leaning toward Thundercracker. His hand stayed locked with Soundwave's, and Soundwave scooted closer to Jazz. Their plating brushed, lingering. "Tell me how to stop this." Jazz's voice changed, shifting to a firm resolution.

"We attack the underlying, unresolved issues that are keeping you tied to your escape fantasy." Thundercracker held Jazz's gaze. "We cannot attack your fantasies, Jazz. They are self-perpetuating. We must defeat your need and desire to want to escape."

"I don't want to escape. I want to be here." Jazz frowned as Soundwave's hand clenched down on his.

"A part of you does," Thundercracker nodded. "The you I am talking to now is the closest I have come to the old you, the you you were before your accident. The you who is here in front of me does not want to be beholden to these fantasies any longer." Thundercracker smiled gently. "But a part of you is still clinging to that rage, Jazz. It's still holding on to the anguish you felt right after it happened. Everything you had… you lost."

Jazz swallowed. "What… What do you mean…?" His throat closed, constricting his voice to a choked whisper.

"Your job, your career, your skills as a performer and a singer. Your memories. Your control over your life. Your feelings of safety and security. Your life as you knew it… was gone." Thundercracker spoke slowly.

Jazz stilled, his lines running cold deep. Soundwave's hand was like a vice, squeezing his too-tightly. Panic began to swirl through his processor, beating around his spark. "What happened?" he whispered.

"You were attacked." The words were said softly, almost as if an apology, but they echoed throughout their house with a shattering, deafening finality.

Jazz groaned, offlining his optics and visor as his processor screamed, rage and vehemence and agony tearing through his systems. A cacophony of emotions poured in, stampeding around his spark, threatening to consume him whole. Bitterness, so much bitterness and hatred and pain, mixed with denial and agony and despair, threaded through his body. Underlying it all was a bedrock of failure, a certainty of feeling that he was utterly useless. Jazz gasped, trying to force his emotions back.

"Soundwave…" Jazz choked out. Soundwave's gaze burned into Jazz's optics, his crimson optics searing into Jazz's soul, lined with anxiety and an indefinable emotion that Jazz had never seen before. "I need you," Jazz whispered breathlessly. Soundwave's lips parted, and he reached for Jazz, shaking hands reaching out to cup Jazz's face before gathering him into his arms.

Through it all, Thundercracker watched, his optics slowly and meticulously taking in every movement and action. He waited as the two slowly drew themselves back to equilibrium between each other, and then for Jazz to face him once more, this time securely wrapped in Soundwave's arms. "Well, that is extraordinary. This is a real acceptance of your reality and a refutation of your fantasies." Thundercracker nodded. "Let's keep breaking this down. You've never been closer to healing."

Jazz nodded, shaky and breathless. Beneath Soundwave's warm plating, Jazz could hear the sounds of his engine and the pulsing of his spark. It was the most beautiful beat Jazz had ever heard.

"Firstly, Jazz, we're going to expose your fantasies. I want you to tell me about them. Tell me what happens in your fantasies." Thundercracker leaned forward, his hands causally crossed flat on the tabletop surface as he waited for Jazz to answer.

"Don't you know? I mean… this isn't our first session, right?" Jazz stammered, swallowing. The pain was receding, slightly, and Jazz was trying to pull himself back to the present, back to Thundercracker, and back to Soundwave's arms and his embrace. "Don't you know about my fantasy?"

Thundercracker nodded. "I know the basic premise. It's an evolving fantasy, though, and you are always at a different point in your escapism. That's the nature of it. You are never 'over.' It continues to grow around your needs and your desires to flee from this reality."

Swallowing, Jazz nodded. He breathed in, and then, with a reassuring glance over to Soundwave, began to speak. His spoke slowly, his voice tripping and halting over words as he began to tell his story of a cataclysmic war ripping their world apart, two warring factions divided and fighting to the death. He spoke of a search mission, a desperate attempt to flee Cybertron in search of more energon, and a disastrous crash onto an organic world.

Slowly, Jazz began to discuss his role, and the position he occupied within the Autobot army. He squeezed tight to Soundwave's hand, though couldn't meet his gaze as he spoke of Soundwave's role as an advisor to the leader of the enemy faction.

Soundwave wouldn't look at Jazz, either, and discomfort radiated from both mechs in waves of potent energy as Jazz spoke.

Thundercracker accepted his role as an enemy flyer with a small, wry smile and a nod of his helm, gently urging Jazz to continue on.

He spoke for over a joor, filling the air with the details of Earth, the music, the humans, the organic world they were stranded on, their pitched and desperate battle to protect the humans from the Decepticons. The Decepticons' desperate plans to ravage the planet and decimate it for its raw energy potential. His words rambled, traveling from a description of the twins' latest antic and prank in the Rec Room to the fear he had felt as he watched his comrades get hurt on the battlefield, succumbing to weapons fire and Deception attack. Slowly, his words began to fade, and as quickly and easily as they had poured out, eagerly wanting to be heard and understood, they trickled off, the sum total of Jazz's fantasy reality suddenly feeling odd and entirely disconnected as he sat at the bench seat of his table in the house he shared with his lover.

Soundwave's arm was still wrapped around his waist, holding him close to his side, and their plating was pressed together from shoulder to hip. Neither could tell who was leaning upon whom any longer.

Thundercracker nodded. "Your descriptions of Earth have always been fascinating." He was smiling again as he held Jazz's gaze. "You have always been such a creative mech, Jazz. It's no surprise to me that your escape fantasies are equally as detailed and creative." Jazz swallowed hard. "Let's break down what's going on within your processor, alright?" Thundercracker waited for Jazz's nod.

"Your processor was physically damaged during your attack. One of the reasons we believe you will never recover your memories of the attack itself is because there is actual hardline damage within your mainframe. For a while, this helped you. You didn't have to consciously be present for your attack. You were able to retreat to a safer, different place, albeit a place that was broken. Had we been able to repair your damage, perhaps this would never have grown to such an extent. We couldn't, though; the damage in your mainframe is too deep, too close to necessary subroutines and cellular crossings. We can see the crack, and we can chart the lost electron flow across it, but we cannot repair it." Thundercracker paused. "For that, again, I am sorry."

Jazz inhaled and nodded again. It stung, hearing that he was broken, a broken mech with delusions of another life. Still, he had expected to hear that there was physical damage. He couldn't be this crazy without there being something wrong with him. Jazz knew, or thought he knew, himself too well. Soundwave's hand rose behind his back, stroking softly against his plating.

"After your attack, we had to put you in stasis as we worked on your repairs. Your consciousness faded in and out across your cracked processor, once again not needing to be present for the reality of your healing. This was the second time that you were able to 'escape' from what was really happening. We have no idea where you were going when you were fading in and out. You've never spoken about it, though you also don't have any memories from that time either. We simply believe that you subsumed your awareness of yourself, disappearing to a safer, ethereal place in your mind."

"I hadn't created my fantasy yet?" Jazz bit his lower lip.

"No. No, it took other mechs for that to happen." Thundercracker inhaled before pressing on. "When we brought you out of stasis, you had no idea what was going on, where you were, or what had happened. It took a long time to explain to you the full extent of your damages, and just what the implications were for the rest of your life. You were…furious."

Jazz felt a slow uncurling of the rage and agony that had flared from earlier begin within his tanks, tickling upward toward his spark. He nodded again, his throat clenching.

"As I said, you lost everything," Thundercracker continued. "It's entirely understandable that you were furious." He paused. "This was also the first time we met."

"You said I attacked you the second time we met?"

"Yes. It was in between your waking up and being told about your injuries and the next time we met that you formed your fantasy escape. Your rage, your pain, your horror, your sheer refusal to accept what had happened to you all bled into your processor, and when you tried to retreat to that safe zone within you, you worked to reform your reality into a place where you were not damaged. Where you were not a victim. Where you had not lost everything. Where you were able to fight back." Thundercracker reached for one of his data pads and onlined the screen, displaying a long stream of notes on Jazz's care and treatment and the details of his fantasy reality. "It is not a surprise to me that your fantasy encompasses an apocalyptic war between the forces of good and evil. You are fighting the same battle here, as a survivor. Your fantasy allows you to actually fight back against the evil you felt without feeling like a victim, but as if you were a crusader for good." Thundercracker leaned forward, holding Jazz's gaze. "Your fantasy is a direct metaphor for your life.. The problem is that your fantasy took over your reality."

Jazz's processor screamed. His vision wavered, shifting uncertainly behind his visor. "I don't understand how…"

"In your fantasy, you are the commander of an elite special operations unit in an apocalyptic war of good versus evil. You are a fighter on the front lines, unstoppable, powerful, and able to outwit, outsmart and outplay all your enemies. You are the epitome of a strong, heroic mech. At that time, you were casting yourself as the complete opposite of who you were in your real life. To be honest, I am not sure if I wouldn't choose the same thing, Jazz." Thundercracker trailed off. "I understand why you did what you did, Jazz."

Jazz was trembling, his body shaking from helm to feet as his life was laid bare, stretched out before and between them all in its fragile inglory. He couldn't remove his gaze from Thundercracker's, instead drinking in the understanding gifted to him from his psychologist. Primus, maybe there was hope for him. Perhaps he wasn't completely crazy. Jazz turned to Soundwave. Their arms were still wound around each other's waists, squeezing tight, and Jazz was afraid they'd fall apart if they each let go.

Soundwave's gaze burned into Jazz, their visors pulsing in time. Jazz's breath came in short, harsh pants as his lips worked themselves in soundless whispers.

"It is understandable," Soundwave intoned, his voice lower than Jazz had ever heard it before. "Forgiveness: not yours to seek."

Jazz pitched forward, leaning his helm against Soundwave's shoulder as he whimpered. It was too much, everything was too much, and he wanted to just disappear.

No. That was how this all had started. Jazz swallowed, pushing himself back up. Thundercracker waited patiently, his crimson optics calm and level.

"I know why I would have cast you as an enemy," Jazz began, his vocalizer finding stronger footing as he spoke, moving from shaking unsteadiness to a steady timber. "But why would I cast Soundwave as my enemy?" His processor rebelled at the thought, and he pressed closer to his lover.

"Everything from your reality became part of what was evil, Jazz. Myself, your doctors, we all became enemy soldiers. I believe the character of Megatron was the incarnation of your rage, as well as a representation of your life that you hated. The rest of us were cast as supporting characters to that hated life."

Jazz frowned. He still didn't totally understand how he could put the love of his life as a mortal enemy, especially in light of Soundwave's total devotion and loving care. It was crazy – but then again, so was he.

Another thought struck Jazz's processor, and he shifted uneasily. "Can I ask you a question?" .

"Of course."

"There's… there's a mech… in my fantasies…." Jazz's voice trailed off. He could feel Soundwave beside him grow tense, his entire body stilling as his gears and lines tensed within. Jazz winced as he thought of Prowl's face, the long-suffering look to his optics when he saw Jazz do something illogical, or the gentle smile he shared when it was just the two of them late at night in the Rec Room, chatting and joking together softly. "He's one of my Autobot comrades. We're…" He swallowed once more, overly aware of Soundwave's raging discomfort beside him.

"Are you romantically involved with this mech?" Thundercracker's words were soft, and they didn't hide the hiss of Soundwave's hydraulics.

"No." Jazz shook his helm. "We're not involved… but I think we were going to be?" His voice trailed off again before he laughed. "Primus, that sounds so stupid. It's my fantasy, and I don't even know." Thundercracker smiled briefly as Jazz continued. "I felt very strongly toward him in my fantasies. I think I was falling in love with him."

"Who is it?" Thundercracker pulled his data pad closer to him, ready to jot down notes.

A beat. "Prowl," Jazz spat out, looking down at the surface of the table. Next to him, Soundwave flinched. "I don't understand how I could do that, fall in love with a fantasy mech when I am… very happy here." Jazz's voice softened as he spoke, and he realized as he said it that it was the truth. He was happy here in Soundwave's arms and surrounded by his love.

"That speaks directly to how we are going to finally break you free of this, Jazz." Thundercracker nodded. "But first, you're asking why are you in love with Prowl? Let me ask you: is he strong? Confident?" Jazz nodded. "A bit on the silent side? Quiet, somewhat enigmatic? Are his emotions deeply buried, yet deeply felt?" Again, Jazz nodded.

Thundercracker smiled, chuckling softly. "These certainly sound like the qualities of someone else I know." He nodded to Soundwave.

Jazz started, gasping. Realization snapped to his processor in an instant. He had always been attracted to the quiet, solitary mechs. Soundwave, with his tall strength, his quiet courage and resolution to stand at Jazz's side, and his unwavering support were intoxicating to Jazz's spark. Before his attack, when times had been happier, Soundwave's quiet, steel-forged love had been the bedrock of Jazz's entire world.

It wasn't Prowl who was stealing Jazz's love, he realized suddenly. It was Jazz re-falling in love with all that was Soundwave, through his fantasy reality.

Jazz exhaled as he gazed at Soundwave with new optics. Soundwave turned away, not looking at Jazz, and his lines and cables were coiled too tightly within his frame. "Soundwave," Jazz whispered. "You are the mech that I want."

Soundwave gripped down hard on Jazz's hand, squeezing tight.

"How are we going to break free of this?" Jazz turned back to Thundercracker, determination in his gaze.

"We need to break the ties that bind you to your fantasy. Your fantasy is set up within your own mind, and sustained by your need for the fantasy to continue. We can break your need for the fantasy by eliminating your confidence in its necessity."

"What?" Jazz frowned.

Thundercracker leaned forward against the table. "The only way we can get you free of this fantasy is to break you free from within it. It has to be your conscious choice. You believe that you need to be there, acting as the head of your Special Operations. We need to break your belief in that need." Thundercracker nodded, dragging his pad closer.

"I would like you, Jazz, to tell me about your specific life there. Tell me what you are doing. Tell me what missions you are running. Tell me about the humans. Tell me the kinds of battles you are fighting. I need you to trust me enough to tell me all your secrets from your fantasy." Thundercracker held Jazz's gaze, intently.

Jazz recoiled, his tanks churning as his spark seized. Part of his processor screamed, rebelling against the thought of revealing so much information. Another part of him fought back, crying out that _this_ was his chance for freedom, his chance to finally be free of his nightmarish fantasies. Why was he clinging to his fantasy so strongly?

"Until you break the need that you have to hold onto these top secret missions, your ties to this fantasy will persist. It is the feeling of _need_ that you have, these feelings of being a _critical part_ of a _critical effort_. But Jazz… You are critically needed _here_." Thundercracker's gaze burned into Jazz's, again.

Stillness and silence descended throughout their home. Thundercracker's words echoed against Jazz's spark. Soundwave's breath hitched. Jazz offlined his optics, wanting desperately to just let go of it all. He didn't want to have to face these thoughts, these feelings, or rush headlong into the pain.

"Trust me, Jazz," Thundercracker said, his voice deep. "Trust us. We can do this."

Jazz shook his helm, his optics still offline. Slowly, as if from far away, tickling along his audials and ghosting over his spark, voices began to whisper. The whispers grew, unintelligible voices merging to a cacophony of noise and volume that suddenly overwhelmed his processor. Jazz whimpered, his helm dropping into his hands.

All at once, a single voice shot out from the noise, breaking through the confusion and searing into Jazz's processor. "Jazz! Jazz, hang on! We're trying to free you, Jazz!"

Jazz whimpered again, flinching at the voice. "Prowl…"

"Trust us, Jazz!" Thundercracker pressed, reaching across the table. "We can do this!"

"Enough!" Soundwave shot to his feet, shaking. His visor pulsed, brilliant crimson streaking out. "Enough for today!"

Thundercracker stared upwards at Soundwave in shock. "We're making progress, Soundwave! We're almost there!"

"Enough for today," Soundwave growled. He pinned Thundercracker back with the force of his gaze for a single moment more before turning and focusing all his attention back to Jazz. He dropped to his lover's side, crouching before Jazz and reaching for his hands, still holding his helm. "Jazz…" Soundwave's voice was unnaturally deep.

Thundercracker stood, gathering his data pads. "I will return tomorrow," he grunted, glancing over the two mechs. Neither paid him any mind, and he slowly walked out of their house.

Jazz met Soundwave's uncertain gaze with pained optics. "Soundwave…" Jazz dragged in a shaky inhale before pitching forward and falling into Soundwave's embrace. Soundwave caught him, holding him close as Jazz shuddered, the pain, confusion, and terror all rocking through his spark. "I just want it to stop," he murmured, pressing his forehelm against Soundwave's shoulder.

Soundwave's arms encircled his frame. "This incident: will be overcome." Soundwave swallowed. "You are firmly believed in." Jazz shuddered, clinging tight.

Suddenly, Soundwave stood, tugging Jazz to his feet. "Come," he droned simply, leading them both upstairs. Jazz followed, their hands joined as Soundwave led him upstairs and to the suite of windows covering their far wall. Soundwave unlatched one, pushing the pane outwards. Jazz watched as Soundwave climbed a few rungs up a homemade ladder welded to the side of their home and leading up to the roof. Soundwave's hand dropped down to Jazz. "Come," he said again, softer. Jazz followed, pulling himself through the window and to the ladder, resolutely putting out of his processor his memories of his escape and jumping from the very same level. Too bad the ladder didn't extend to the ground. He could have saved his knees.

Soundwave helped Jazz scramble over the edge of their roof, and then they were both together once more, sitting on the flat rooftop of their small, simple home. Cybertron stretched all around them, the isolation of their home set in sharp relief against the skyline of Iacon, far off in the distance. Their home was an island within the vast wilderness of the ragged hardlines and hardware stretching in between the cities, and to Jazz, their home was an oasis in the midst of a confusing, threatening world. Lights twinkled on as the light grew dim and the sun began to set. Jazz started; he hadn't realized how long they had been talking down below.

He sighed as he stared out over the landscape, watching the lights twinkle as the sun's rays darkened the obsidian glow of the planet in rays of purple and cobalt. Soundwave settled down behind him, holding him close. The confusion and anxiety of earlier seemed suddenly far removed from the stillness and gentleness of the evening and from Soundwave's arms. Jazz leaned back comfortably, throwing a small smile up to Soundwave. "It's beautiful up here."

"First time you climbed up here: panic." Soundwave fixed Jazz with a wry glare. "Second time: frustration. Third time: ladder installed."

Jazz laughed out loud at Soundwave's gentle, subtle humor. He twisted his helm sideways, smiling at Soundwave. Soundwave met his gaze, an answering smile teasing his lips.

Emotions singed his lines, searing deeply into his spark. Jazz's breaths faltered, and everything seemed to fall away. Certainty followed after his emotions, gently pulling apart the twisted tendrils of his spark and seating itself against his soul.

"I love you," Jazz whispered. He smiled as Soundwave froze. "I do. I love you, Soundwave." Jazz reached up, his hand sliding behind Soundwave's helm as he gently pulled him close. Their faces brushed against each other, cheeks and noses lightly stroking before Jazz closed his smiling lips to Soundwave's hesitant, nervous pair.

Their kiss grew, soft touches of lips brushing against each other tenderly turning to a hot burn. Jazz moaned. Soundwave grunted, his body trembling, and slowly met Jazz's rising passion.

Finally, Jazz pulled away, leaning his helm against Soundwave's. His spark was fluttering too-fast. "It feels like the first time," he said softly, teasing.

Soundwave grunted, half laughing, though his optics were edged with a lingering darkness. His hands ghosted over Jazz's plating, trying to touch and not touch everywhere.

Jazz winced. "I've said that before, haven't I?" Soundwave nodded, the movements of his helm transferring across to Jazz's. Jazz leaned forward, capturing his lips once more in a warm kiss.

Soundwave's engine rumbled, then unleashed with a roar as his control faltered. His arms wound around Jazz, pulling him into his lap and holding him close. Their kiss deepened as their arms and hands roamed, stroking over each other's body and cupping helms, backs, shoulders and faces. Jazz pressed himself close to Soundwave, settling into his lap with his knees on either side of Soundwave's hips.

Soundwave pulled back slowly, his hands cupping and stroking over Jazz's face. "Jazz…" he whispered, barely heard over his thrumming engine. Whatever he wanted to say, he couldn't, and instead Soundwave pulled Jazz close and buried his helm beneath Jazz's chin, tucking his face into Jazz's neck and embrace.

"Make love to me," Jazz whispered, turning his helm down to graze his lips over Soundwave's audial. "Make love to me all night long."

Soundwave exhaled explosively, his optics surging at Jazz's words. Slowly, his hands cupped Jazz's face again, and his thumb stroked along Jazz's cheekarch fractionally, each tiny movement lasting long moments.

Jazz's breath ghosted over Soundwave's wrist. His tanks were churning, his spark was thrumming, and his lines were pounding, too fast and too hard. He was on the edge, the very edge, and all he wanted to do was let go and fall into Soundwave.

When their lips met again, Jazz let go. He surrendered, the full force of his passion bursting out and enveloping them both. His hands were everywhere, stroking over Soundwave's frame in time with his kisses.

Jazz had no idea how they got down from the roof, but suddenly they were back inside their loft, and Soundwave was laying him down on their berth. _This is my life_, he thought. _This is my love_.

Moaning, Soundwave crawled ever so slowly toward Jazz. Jazz's hands reached out, caressing what plating he could reach as Soundwave balanced over his body, his helm hovering over Jazz and his hands just wide of his shoulders. Their vents and breaths mingled between their overheated bodies, shaking and sharing their desire. Jazz shifted, slowly dragging his leg up Soundwave's thigh and rubbing his calf against Soundwave's. Jazz grinned, pressing down with his leg and trying to draw Soundwave closer to his body.

Soundwave's visor dimmed just before he spoke. "Jazz: cherished." Soundwave's optics surged, and then he was swooping down and crushing Jazz's lips with a bruising, spark-deep kiss. Their bodies surged together, plating and arms and legs rubbing and caressing and melting into each other.

Jazz was gasping, drowning in sensations and pleasure and too much of everything. It was swallowing him whole, burying him deeply, and everywhere around him was Soundwave and his perfect, all-encompassing care.

"Jazz," Soundwave moaned, his hand rising to cup the back of Jazz's helm gently. Jazz rose, trailing his lips up Soundwave's face until they met once more in a heated, fiery kiss.

"Soundwave," Jazz whispered, their shared breaths coming too fast and harsh and mixing together. Jazz kissed where he could, raining soft nips and caresses with his hands in time to kisses on Soundwave's cheeks, his nose, the edges of his visor. "I want you. I love you."

Frantic, needy lips pressed open against plating, breathy pants mingling with messy kisses. Soundwave's hands were everywhere, rubbing and caressing and teasing over his plating and lines and cables, dragging out too much pleasure and perfect feeling. Jazz tipped his helm back, gasping. His body was on fire, his lines exploding from within, and matching forces of pure ice and molten metal were screaming through his systems. Soundwave was loving him so tenderly, so completely, in such an all-encompassing way that he was drowning, entirely. His spark was exploding, hot firelines of feelings and sensations zipping through his body to every place that Soundwave's caresses and kisses were deposited. Jazz shivered, all over, and deep within him, the pressures holding back the fullness of his love began to weaken. Soundwave kept moving, kept plunging into his body and into his soul, and it was all Jazz could do to cling to his shoulders and ride the waves of ecstasy. Soundwave grunted, leaning forward to suck on Jazz's exposed throat and kiss at his chin, and Jazz finally let go.

He crested, rising to the highest peak he'd ever journeyed as storms of sheers erupted through his systems, burning through his systems in totality. His love, shielded deep within his spark, broke loose, tearing throughout his entire being in a burst of white light.

Soundwave exploded, gasping in shock at the power of Jazz's release. He moaned, burying his helm in Jazz's neck as he trembled. The pleasure refused to die, refused to quit, and his systems were strained to the limit with the force of his release.

Finally, their systems quieted, and Jazz and Soundwave panted together, clinging desperately to each other's bodies. Jazz never wanted to let go, not ever.

"Jazz," Soundwave swallowed, his thumb brushing over Jazz's cheek. "Love: misunderstood before you."

Jazz smiled. "I love you, too." He leaned forward and pressed a light, lingering kiss to Soundwave's lips. "We'll get through this. I promise. Tomorrow." He nodded, conviction in his voice. "I'm going to break these chains tomorrow."

Soundwave nodded. "War is the nightmare," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze pressed into Jazz's, a different depth reflecting back uncertainly into Jazz's optics.

Jazz's breath hitched. "War is the nightmare," he repeated. Soundwave caressed his cheek again, and then they drew together for another lingering kiss.

No more words were spoken for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fracture Mechanics Four**

* * *

The next morning, Jazz onlined first.

His circuits were warm, buzzing with a gentle, languid relaxation, the happy aftereffects of their night. He nuzzled back against Soundwave's strong, broad chest. Blue arms circled his body, holding him tight. Soundwave murmured at Jazz's actions, soft and content.

Jazz grinned as he rotated in Soundwave's arms. He extricated himself from Soundwave's gentle hold and pushed Soundwave onto his back. Jazz's optics wandered over his body, memorizing and rememorizing every strong angle and his long lines. For too many of Jazz's memories, he had never been able to _look _at Soundwave. He had been an enemy to Jazz, and though he was an attractive mech, Jazz had never once thought anything beyond a burning need to destroy.

All that was changing now.

As was so much else. He scooted closer to Soundwave and finally straddled his lower legs. His hands stroked up his plating, first dragging his fingers along the edges of Soundwave's calves and his knees before kneading and stroking the powerful white thighs. Soundwave murmured again, his visor flickering. Jazz leaned down and pressed a hot, wet kiss into Soundwave's smooth abdomen.

Soundwave onlined in an instant, his visor surging red as he inhaled a quick drag of air. He struggled to sit up, but caught on Jazz straddling his legs, and froze instantly. His jaw fell open as his vents stuttered.

"Good morning," Jazz purred, teasing a smile as he perched with his hands braced just so on Soundwave's hips. "How was your recharge?"

Soundwave hesitated before he squeaked out, "Uneventful."

Jazz smirked. "And your morning?"

Another hesitation. "Eventful." His visor flashed as Jazz's thumbs began circling his hips, rubbing patterns against his plating.

Smiling wide, Jazz's lips grazed a path up Soundwave's chest, his lower lip catching on his plating and dragging a thin smear of lubricants up over his armor. Soundwave stopped breathing all together, and Jazz began to nuzzle his neck.

"Jazz," Soundwave intoned, breathlessly.

Jazz moved up Soundwave body, pressing and sidling every inch of his plating against Soundwave's. "I'm going to have my wicked way with you," Jazz whispered, breathing the words directly into Soundwave's audial vents.

Soundwave's visor flared white-hot, his breaths once again stuttering.

* * *

"Jazz: will be the death of me," Soundwave finally panted, breathing hard.

Jazz grinned. "It's a good way to go though." He offlined his optics, resting in Soundwave's arms.

"Affirmative." Soundwave's hand rose, stroking over Jazz's back.

They lounged together, talking softly. Jazz teased Soundwave, joking about his sensitive sideseams and slightly ticklish plating. Soundwave took it all in with warm grace, stroking Jazz's back and teasing Jazz about his own ticklish plating. Jazz laughed as Soundwave demonstrated, digging his fingers into Jazz's wiring, and he wiggled to get away. Soundwave rolled him over, pinning Jazz beneath him, their chests pressed together and one of Soundwave's arms looped underneath Jazz's neck and helm.

Jazz's breath hitched as his leg rose, catching around Soundwave's hip. "Hey, sexy," he whispered. "Come here often?"

Soundwave's lips quirked again, another tiny smile for Jazz only. "Affirmative," he whispered, just before he slowly leaned down and captured Jazz's lips in a lingering kiss. Jazz moaned, melting into Soundwave's arms.

Their doorchime sounded, echoing throughout the lower level. Soundwave pulled away. Jazz's helm thunked down against the berth as he glared at the door. The doorchime sounded again.

"Thundercracker," Soundwave droned, his voice low. His optics met Jazz. "Your therapy: continues."

Jazz nodded, sighing. He wanted to continue with his therapy, and he was determined to see it through this time. He couldn't speak for himself in the past any longer, but this time, he wanted to remain _here_, in Soundwave's arms.

If only Thundercracker had better timing, though. Their doorchime rang again.

Soundwave turned back to Jazz, holding his gaze. Jazz smiled, faces inches from each other. "I'm ready, Soundwave. I want to end this fantasy. I want to be _here_. With _you_."

Soundwave searched his gaze as Thundercracker began knocking. He lowered his lips to Jazz's, a chaste, gentle kiss stretching between them. He pulled back, glanced down to the door and sighed.

Finally, he turned back to Jazz. "Thundercracker: must wait," he droned just before he captured Jazz's lips again. Jazz gripped Soundwave's helm, and they utterly ignored Thundercracker's repeated chimes.

He'd return later.

* * *

Jazz grinned at Soundwave as he moved to answer their door. Thundercracker had finally returned, much, much later.

Jazz tried to stifle his grin and failed. They'd spent all morning and much of the afternoon wrapped up in each other's embrace. It was as if they were rebuilding all the lost memories of Jazz's, or as if they were new lovers, frantic with expressions of physical love, actions to hide the unspoken and too-strong emotions coursing through their sparks. It was the heady rush of love, and Jazz was swept away with its intensity and passion.

While taking a break, they had lain side by side, their plating scorching and too hot to even touch or lean against one another. Only their hands were tangled together as they each stretched out. Jazz rolled his helm to the side, staring at Soundwave. "Why do you love me?" he asked, curiosity burning through him.

Soundwave stilled, his entire body seeming to freeze, every gear halting as he processed Jazz's words. He swallowed, and Jazz watched the slow rise and fall of the gears in his throat and the bulging of the cables around his neck.

Soundwave didn't look at Jazz as he spoke, but his words had changed, a deeper timbre entering his voice. The air vibrated with the depth and force of his words. "Jazz: demonstrates new facets of strength and passion previously unknown." He inhaled. "Love equals learning." Soundwave rolled his helm and met Jazz's gaze. "About you."

Jazz smiled softly and squeezed Soundwave's hand.

Soundwave hesitated before speaking. "Query: why does Jazz love me?" The reflexive pronoun rang through Jazz's processor. He couldn't remember Soundwave using it before, and he wondered if perhaps he had returned, finally, to their previous levels of personal intimacy.

Jazz squeezed Soundwave's hand again. "How can I not?" he whispered. "You are my harmony." He smiled. "Your soul draws out the very best of me. I feel alive with you." Soundwave hadn't moved, and was still, silent, staring at Jazz. "You are the foundation of my world. You are my melody. Our love is a song," Jazz finished in a whisper.

Soundwave rolled toward Jazz, cupping his cheek tenderly before he kissed him once again. That led to hushed whispers and soft words spoken into each other's audials and long, lingering kisses that stretched on.

Energon forced them finally to rise. Just as they were descending their stairway, sneaking longing looks at one another, Thundercracker's chimes began once more.

"I'll get the door. Grab us some energon," Jazz whispered, pressing close for one final kiss and a wide smile. Soundwave grabbed two cubes from the stores and watched Jazz, never taking his optics off his lover. Jazz winked back at Soundwave.

Jazz palmed open their door and greeted Thundercracker. "Hello, Thundercracker," he smiled warmly.

Thundercracker visibly started. "Jazz!" His optics burned as he stared into Jazz's visor. "This is a first." He forced a surprised smile to his face.

Jazz smiled back and nodded. "I'm happy to see you today, Thundercracker. Come in?" He stepped back and gestured for Thundercracker to enter.

Thundercracker stepped inside slowly. His optics sought Soundwave. Soundwave sat at the table, huddled over his cube of energon. He refused to meet Thundercracker's gaze as the psychologist entered.

"I'm sorry about our delay this morning," Jazz said, trying to stifle a grin as he moved to join Soundwave at the table.

Thundercracker followed slowly and sat down across from the both of them. His optics traveled over both their bodies, taking in the slight paint transfers and rubbed spots along their armor. "It's no problem," he purred.

Soundwave still refused to meet Thundercracker's gaze. He gripped his energon cube within his hands, his shoulders rigid and his back straight, immoveable next to Jazz. Jazz pressed against his side, his knee reaching out to stroke against Soundwave's beneath the table's surface. Soundwave leaned into his touch, his helm tilting toward Jazz.

Jazz, bolstered by Soundwave's touch, began to speak. "I'm ready, Thundercracker. I'm ready to exorcise these memories. I want to be here, and I want to live my life."

Thundercracker nodded. "Let's start at the beginning: tell me your function."

Jazz inhaled deeply. "I'm the head of Special Operations in the Autobot faction, stationed aboard the _Ark_ under Optimus Prime."

"Excellent." Thundercracker smiled and pulled out his data pad. "Tell me about your current operations. What is your current mission? What were you doing before you returned to this reality? Let's break down what's holding you to your fantasies. Let's break that feeling of _needing_ to return."

Jazz nodded, and Soundwave's hand snaked down beneath the table and grabbed one of Jazz's. Jazz squeezed back. _I'll get us through this, Soundwave_, he thought. _I'll come back to you_.

Slowly, Jazz began to speak. "About a week ago, according to my… fantasy time, I was dispatched on a counter intelligence mission with one of my team members, Mirage. The Autobots are trying to help the humans get their space program off the ground. Specifically, they just signed a treaty with the United States to share information with the NASA program." Jazz slipped into the third person, discussing the Autobots and his former life with the detachment of a person not involved. His passion and his convictions of the previous days had melted away, replaced with an equally strong conviction regarding his place at Soundwave's side.

"And why are the Autobots working with the humans and NASA?" Thundercracker scrawled on his data pad.

"The humans want to bolster their orbital defenses. Their planet, before us, was not in contact with other alien species. The whole galaxy has suddenly been thrown wide open, and it's potentially hostile. They don't want to be the proving ground for any other alien wars." Jazz waited for Thundercracker to finish with his notes.

"How does this treaty impact the Decepticons? How does this advance your aims of defeating them?"

"Well, if the Autobots can get the humans to control their orbital planes, the Decepticons will have a much harder time getting on and off the planet. They want to strangle them, cut off their supply lines, and force them to be on the run. When the Decepticons try to go to ground, the Autobots want all their avenues to be cut off." Jazz's voice heated, some of his old passion flowing back into his words. He held Thundercracker's optics. Soundwave squeezed his hand again.

Thundercracker nodded slowly. "An excellent plan," he said simply, writing some more. "Please, continue."

Jazz exhaled, working himself up to continue. "Mirage and I headed out to spread some disinformation. The humans picked up Decepticon trackers in their communications networks, and it had the ringers of a 'Con spy job. They had penetrated the secure government channels, so we were concerned they had heard of our alliance and joint space operations. We wanted to keep that a secret."

Thundercracker's optics flicked briefly to Soundwave before sliding back to Jazz.

"We were heading out to try and do some spying and eavesdropping of our own. We wanted to know what they knew, and see if what they knew was really what we were doing. After that, we wanted to try to plant some of our own disinformation to junk up what they thought they knew."

"And what's the last thing you remember?" Thundercracker's stylus hovered over his data pad, ready to scrawl across its surface in time with Jazz's words.

Jazz frowned. He shook his helm, his visor flickering as he struggled to recall. "We were driving… There was a loud bang. I think…" he trailed off. "I think I remember Mirage screaming." Sounds poured through his helm, indistinct shouts and screams and hollering orders bouncing around without meaning or context.

_Get back to base, now! _

_I'm not leaving you! _

_Now, Mirage! _

Gunshots peppered through his helm, the sounds echoing in his memories, laser blasts of energy seemingly crackling around him with the force of the recall. "Gunshots. Lots of them. We… we were attacked." He looked up, searing his gaze into Thundercracker's. "We were attacked. I sent Mirage back for help. There was another bang… and then pain…" There had been so much pain. Jazz had never felt such pain in his life. He thought he was drowning, there was so much pressure. "And then everything went white. I woke up here."

Thundercracker nodded, his optic ridges furrowed. "The attack was your subconscious trying to understand the process of you returning to reality. Since _this_ reality is your enemy, embodied in the Decepticons, you are quite literally under 'attack' from it when you reawaken. I am not surprised by the battle." Thundercracker's wings flicked as he glanced once more at Soundwave.

Jazz nodded, holding to Thundercracker's words as he clung to his conviction to see his treatment through. Soundwave's hand was squeezing his, almost painfully tight, and Jazz wondered how many times Soundwave had watched him almost heal. Had watched him nearly get better, only to relapse and scream hatred at him once more. Jazz couldn't imagine returning to the darkest places of his mind and spark, and he drank in the opportunity for sanctification and retribution that Thundercracker provided.

"Is this typical of your Autobot strategies?" Thundercracker hovered over his data pad. "Are you typically engaged in actions with your allies, or in counter-intelligence operations?"

Jazz shook his helm. "Those are new, actually. We used to be a reactionary force, seemingly one step behind at all times. We'd just respond to new Decepticon attacks, another Decepticon raid. We've finally managed to bring the humans up to a point where we could come alongside them and ally."

Thundercracker nodded again. "So you would characterize your operations against the Decepticons as a mixture of offensive and defensive measures?"

"Strategically, we're defensive. We have to protect the humans and Earth, now that Cybertron is…" Jazz trailed off, unable to say that Cybertron was gone, not while he was sitting on its surface inside his perfect home. "Operationally, we're moving to offensive. Tactically, we're a mixture. We run defensive operations as a prime strategy, but Special Operations exists to bring the fight to the Decepticons, as well as safeguard our victories and gains."

"The best defense is a good offense?"

Jazz smiled. "Something like that, yes."

"Tell me about your Special Operations."

Jazz only hesitated slightly, but Soundwave's solid presence next to him, his tight handhold, and the feel of Soundwave's lovemaking still deep within his body all pushed him forward. He spoke, at first haltingly, describing the squad he headed, the mechs within, and their operations and capabilities. He spoke of their past actions, successes they'd had against the Decepticons. He spoke of how they supported the main attack force of the Autobots whenever they met in battle.

Through it all, Thundercracker's stylus whirred across the data pad.

From that, Jazz discussed their offensive capabilities, speaking about their weapons, the armaments on the _Ark_ and their personal weaponry, and even Wheeljack's crazy inventions. His voice rose, almost as if he were relating fond memories or stories of times gone past. The words slipped out of him, easily falling from his lips as he relaxed into the belief that he was free from his nightmares. His processor quieted, convinced entirely that he was separated from the past horrors of the war, and that his new life was awaiting him with arms wide open, ready for him to fling himself back into it full-sparked.

Soundwave remained by his side, a stalwart presence and comfort through every syllable, every confession of his fantasy life. Their hands remained twined together beneath the table.

"Tell me about the _Ark_ itself," Thundercracker finally asked, after Jazz's stories wound down, his memories trickling to almost nothing. Jazz had never felt better. "Tell me about the operations of the _Ark_. The comms systems, the communications protocols. The command system protocols." Thundercracker's optics burned.

Jazz nodded. He was exorcising everything, spewing everything about his fantasy, rejecting it entirely. He wanted to rip every bit of knowledge he'd built to support that false life out of his spark and let it burn. Every tear, every rend of his old life was a satisfaction, an affirmation to himself that _this_ life was his.

Soundwave's hand squeezed down on Jazz's as Jazz began to speak. He shifted, pulling Jazz close. Thundercracker watched Soundwave with a schooled expression, practiced neutrality falling over his face. Jazz figured he'd seen enough couples reconnecting through their therapy that another couple displaying their affection amorously wasn't new to him.

"Our communications are run through a quantum superencipherment protocol," Jazz began. "The coding frequency randomly changes, and only coded receivers can transmit or receive comms. The quantum fields allow our ranges to expand dramatically, and we can keep in contact even through great distances."

Thundercracker scribbled furiously. His optics flicked to Soundwave once again, then back to Jazz. "And the command system protocols?"

"We run a quantum mainframe. Teletraan 1 manages the mainframe and subsets, and acts as the interface personality for the data. Access is keyed to the communications protocols and the mechs identity coding. Fresh access codes are generated on each end, in the mechs' processors and Teletraan, at random intervals. The translation protocol for the coded language is buried deep within the mainframe, and the only way into the mainframe is through direct channel access. And the mech has to be cleared."

"And you were a cleared mech, correct?" Thundercracker's stylus hovered just above the screen, his scribbles coming to an abrupt halt.

"Of course," Jazz said. He grinned self-consciously. "I was an officer, and it _was_ my fantasy. I had access to everything."

Thundercracker smiled slowly. His expression shifted, his optics burning to a crackling crimson, suddenly becoming islands in the sea of a twisted, dark sneer. His lips curled, far, far too slowly, and what was once a calming, comforting face became, in an instant, the haunting memory of a warrior mech all too familiar to Jazz.

Jazz's spark surged, reacting to the danger before his processor caught up. His spark screamed, the energon in his lines turning to ice as his pressures suddenly spiked. His internals choked, faltering as the nightmare was suddenly all too real, all over again.

Soundwave's arms tightened around his shoulders, pinning him back roughly. His hands gripped down on Jazz's, this time far too hard, nearly fracturing his joints. Jazz whimpered, confusion and terror coursing through his body. Reflexively he leaned back, seeking comfort and safety from Soundwave.

"Thank you, Jazz," Thundercracker purred, rising slowly from his seat. "Long live the_ Decepticons_." His optics flashed, flaring as bursts of violent victory scrawled across his smug stare. In the next instant, he vanished, disappearing from view as if he'd never been there at all.

Finally, Jazz understood, in a visceral, primal way, that he'd been _had_. His processor froze, his spark plummeted, crashing to the depths of his soul before shattering into a billion fractional pieces, each one melting further to nothing. His breath stopped, his engine choked, and his entire body screamed as one, the anguish just beginning to snake around his spark. It was all happening too fast, far, far too fast, and he just wished for once second, one breath, to think through what was happening.

Instead, Soundwave pulled him from behind, holding him too-tight as his hands twisted, nearly fracturing Jazz's plating and breaking his arms. Jazz jerked, trying to pull away and melt into his arms at the same time. "No…" he whispered, violent trembles seizing control of his body. "No!"

"Jazz…" Soundwave choked out. Jazz couldn't breathe, and Soundwave was crushing him, twisting his arms and trying to fracture his plating, trying to crush his internals. Jazz's arms were caught in Soundwave's grip, held crossed over his chest. He couldn't get free, couldn't jerk loose. Suddenly, Jazz felt Soundwave's lips against the back of his helm, his breathing ragged over his audials. Jazz felt wet heat ghost over his horns, and his body betrayed him with a curl of lust, intermingled with his raging agony and the fracturing of his entire world. Soundwave kept pulling backwards, crushing him from behind, and finally, Jazz cried out in pain.

All at once, Soundwave was gone. Vanished. He disappeared as suddenly and as finally as Thundercracker had only moments before.

Jazz whirled around, staring at where his lover had just been. He whirled around again, his optics sweeping over their empty house, searching for anything, everything, anything of his life and this world. His breath came in short bursts, ragged and barely able to power his engine. His engine screamed, pounding away with his searing pressures and burning the limited air Jazz was feeding it as his internals wailed.

Jazz circled again, slower, and then again. Dimly he registered noise, some part of his processor recognizing the sound but unable to comprehend.

It was only when he crashed to his knees and his hand shakily came up over his mouth that he realized he was screaming. Sound roared in all around, and suddenly all he could hear was his torn vocalizer and the anguish in his hoarse, ragged shouts as he screamed over and over and over again.

He didn't stop. He didn't know if he'd ever stop screaming. Not any more.

Everything went white.

* * *

"It's about fragging time!" Starscream's scratchy wail was the first thing Soundwave heard as his processor crashed back to reality. He tumbled, pitching forward and collapsing out of the _Nemesis' _medberth. His knees impacted the decking and he fell to his hands, his vents heaving as his tanks lurched. Cables connected to his cranial ports stretched backwards, taut with his fall, securing his data flow into the _Nemesis_ mainframe

"What took so fragging long?" Starscream screeched again, his thruster-heeled foot stopping directly in front of Soundwave's face. "Thundercracker was trying to ping in to your 'net for hours!"

Soundwave shuddered, his processor scrambling to reorient itself. His vents faltered, stuttering as they tried to cool his raging systems.

Nearby, Thundercracker struggled online as well, tangled in his own mess of cables, all connecting his processor back to the _Nemesis_ mainframe. "Slag," he muttered, trying to climb his way out of the mess. "I'm _never_ doing that again." Thundercracker stumbled as he stood, off balance. He shot a burning glare at Soundwave.

"We won't need to," Starscream purred, smirking. "We got _everything_."

Megatron's voice broke through the comm systems. "Starscream, status! We've been waiting too long for your extremely questionable results!"

"We had a delay, Megatron!" Starscream shouted back, vitriol pouring from his vocalizer. He glared down at Soundwave, dismissing the still-huddled 3IC. "My plan has produced results that far exceed any of your measly attempts to destroy the Autobots,"

"Enough talk, Starscream!" Megatron's voice boomed through the comm systems, his own rage physically reverberating around the control room. "We are ready to attack _now_!"

"If you have any intellect at all after your last tumble with Prime, you'll wait for me," Starscream snapped.

Starscream turned, staring at Soundwave. "Soundwave! Get _up_! We need those codes!"

Soundwave looked up slowly, his visor crackling and scratched with white lines of emotional interference. His vents hitched, his heavy, ragged breathing fueling his engine to raging infernos. He felt, deep within him, _everything_ that was Jazz. He knew _everything_ about the Autobot Saboteur. His processor, his mind, his emotions, his laughter, the sound of his voice, and all of the essence of Jazz tumbled through him, racing through his lines and ghosting across a million different memories.

Underneath it all, Soundwave's processor whirled, collating and cataloging the tactical information he'd been sent to retrieve. Jazz's command codes, the quantum signal of his processor, and the command access codes he sheltered at the deepest parts of his core mainframe had all been opened to Soundwave.

Jazz had never felt the subtle, insidious tendrils of his telepathic probing. The more Jazz relaxed into their life together, the more open his processor had been to Soundwave's searches. Worlds within worlds, lies within lies within lies.

"Soundwave!" Starscream screeched. "It's time to _destroy_ them!"

Soundwave's gaze met Starscream's, his helm slowly rising as he stared up from his hands and knees, crouched on the Command Deck of the _Nemesis_.

* * *

Medical alarms wailed, screaming too fast within the Autobot medbay. Above them all, Jazz's screams and spark-deep shudders, hoarse and ragged, tore through the chaos, echoing with static and wrenched with anguish.

Prowl's hands flew over Jazz's plating. Jazz shook uncontrollably on the berth, screaming in abject horror, locked within his processor's stranglehold. "Ratchet!" Prowl hollered.

Ratchet ran, tearing across the medbay to Jazz's side. Mirage, nearly healed, scrambled off his berth and raced over. "What happened?" Ratchet shouted, pushing Prowl away.

"I don't know," Prowl said. "He just started screaming!"

Ratchet's optics flew over the terminal readouts. He cursed beneath his breath, then reached behind him for a sedative gun, blindly grabbing for his medcart. "His systems are screaming," Ratchet said. "Whatever code has been destroying his processor is gone." He stabbed Jazz's lines with the point of the sedative gun, flooding his main lines with the cooling fluid. It instantly swept into Jazz's pounding energon flow, but the force of Jazz's raging systems obliterated any effect from the sedatives. Jazz's peripheral lines began to burst, and alarms screamed once more throughout the medbay.

"Frag, it's not working!" Ratchet shouted before he turned and ran for his stores. He needed to get Jazz's systems down before his lines burst and his engine stopped and his spark starved of energon.

Prowl slid back to Jazz's side, standing opposite of where Ratchet was working. He grasped Jazz's hand, clinging tightly and twining their fingers together. "Jazz," he whispered, fear pouring from his optics. His other hand reached out, stroking over Jazz's seizing, trembling helm and across his forehelm before cupping his cheek, as best he could.

Jazz screamed, wailing a too-long burst of spark-wrenching static as his body twisted. His vocalizer shorted, and then restarted, torn from within. His broken gears caught on his attempted screams, fracturing their pain exponentially.

Ratchet raced back to Jazz's berth with more sedative guns, each primed with a higher dosage. He pumped one, then set it against the lines in Jazz's neck.

Suddenly, Jazz's visor surged, onlining as he dragged in a ragged breath of air. Prowl squeezed his hand, their fingers and hands denting from the force of their sudden surge. "Jazz!" Prowl gasped, snaking his palm around the back of Jazz's helm. "Jazz, stay with us!"

Jazz whimpered, a low keen falling from his trembling lips. Ratchet pumped the gun's sedatives into his lines, and Jazz shivered at the cooling fluids racing through his system. Jazz's helm rolled to the side, his wide, agonizing optics searching for Prowl's.

"Prowl…" Jazz whispered, unable to speak any longer. His vocalizer was shot, the words catching and breaking against his torn gears. "Is this real?" His words were breaths, shaking and quaking with uncertainty.

"I'm here, Jazz. I'm here. You're back. You're safe. You're going to be alright." Prowl squeezed back against Jazz's death grip on his hand, his thumb stroking across his helm with his other.

Jazz shook his helm, tiny shakes growing larger.

"It's alright, Jazz," Prowl said softly. His world contracted, Ratchet's furious actions on the other side of the berth fading away as he stared into Jazz's gaze.

"Prowl…" Jazz choked out, coughing as his vocalizer slipped. "Prowl… I told them… _everything_…" His optics pleaded, begging Prowl for something Prowl didn't know.

"What do you mean?" Prowl frowned.

"Thundercracker," Jazz whispered, his visor flickering. "Soundwave." His breath caught, hitching in his throat. "I told them _everything_, Prowl. _Everything_."

Prowl froze, just as the sounds of Seekers streaking in overhead, just above the _Ark_, echoed around the medbay. There was no way they should have been able to breach their perimeter, no way they should have been able to get that close. Muffled explosions echoed as dust fell from the _Ark's _ceiling. The Seekers' engines screamed again, circling around for another pass.

The base trembled, the bulkheads shaking against their rocky entombment. Seeker laser fire peppered the outside of the_ Ark_, and far off, in a distant part of the base, a deep explosion sounded, a wrenching tear echoing back through the metal hull. The shrill alarm of a breach, unheard in over four million years, blared to life.

Prowl held Jazz's pleading gaze before he looked up quickly, staring at Ratchet. Shock colored their faces, their optics frozen in abject horror. Mirage stepped back from Jazz's berth as the lights flickered around the medbay, and the entire _Ark_ shuddered under the renewed firepower of the entirety of the Decepticon army.

* * *

"Destroy them," Megatron breathed, satisfaction dripping from his vocalizer. "Leave _none_ online." His soldiers all cheered, eagerly turning to rage against their enemies. The Autobots would never know what hit them. The Decepticons poured down the hillside, heading straight for the _Ark_ entrance.

"Leave Prime for me," Megatron called, just before he followed his Decepticons on their final destruction of the Autobots.

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story! _


	5. Chapter 5

**Fracture Mechanics Five**

* * *

Explosions shattered the _Ark_, the heavy reverberations passing deep underground and into the medbay.

Prowl whirled on Jazz, his hands still tangled around Jazz's body and fingers. His optics flared. "Jazz, I need to know what happened."

Jazz shuddered, his vitals spiking. "They're coming to destroy us," he whispered.

"How?" Prowl's optics burned down into Jazz's crackling visor. "How are they getting past our defenses?"

Jazz's expression fractured, anguish streaking out. "Because of me! I told them everything!"

"How?" Prowl's voice sharpened as the sounds of the _Ark's_ imminent destruction grew louder and the trembles of the medbay increased. Supplies in the back stores of Ratchet's medbay clattered to the ground, sliding off their shelves. "Were you captured?"

Jazz and Mirage had been gone for 36 hours when they had missed their first check-in. Prowl and Hound, who always came up to the Command Deck for Mirage's check-in's when he was out on mission, had waited for thirty minutes listening to dead air before they cut the line and started the countdown. Anything could have happened to cause the team to miss the first check-in. It had happened before. In those cases, the second check-in was required, and 12 hours after the missed comms, some form of communication had to be established on a secure frequency to ensure the team was alive, safe and that the mission was going well.

If the second check-in went unanswered, the rapid response and rescue teams were launched. Instantly.

Twelve hours after Jazz and Mirage's missed check in found Prowl and Hound on the Command Deck, along with the entirety of the rescue team, all loaded up and ready to roll out. Prowl had opened the comm lines and waited, each breath willing Jazz and Mirage to comm back to the _Ark._

Nothing but dead air greeted their audials.

They rolled out quickly and began their search, Prowl and Hound leading a mish-mash rescue mission based on Jazz's mission specs and operations orders and Hound's tracking abilities.

They had found Mirage first, crashed into a tree with laser scorches burned through his chassis. He was transported back to base immediately, though Hound chose to remain with Prowl and continue searching for Jazz. His optics traced Skyfire's path across the sky until he disappeared over the horizon.

"Ratchet's got him now, Hound," Prowl had said, trying to be reassuring. It was hard, when all he could think about was Jazz. Jazz never left his teammates behind. Jazz never let one of his mechs get hurt, not if he wasn't right there with them. Mirage, however, was damaged and in stasis, only a few days from offlining, and Jazz was nowhere to be found. Where was he?

Prowl had pushed aside all his fears and focused his processor, ruthlessly crushing all emotions aside from his steel-forged determination to find Jazz. They continued searching.

Hours and hours later, when Prowl was nearly growing frantic and his control was wearing thin, an exhausted and indescribably filthy Hound crawled out of the muck on the edge of a flooded riverbed and shouted that he had a trail. A mile down in the swamp, they found Jazz, nearly offline, energon oozing into the mud in a slow leak and his internals mangled from the forces of crushing blows around his frame. He was miles from Mirage, and miles from where their mission was supposed to take either of them.

It wasn't until they returned to the _Ark_ that the true measure of Jazz's damage became known. Prowl had carried Jazz back within the trailer of Optimus Prime, monitoring his condition on their long and slow drive back. He'd started seizing half way there, his vitals spiking and his engine knocking, and there hadn't been anything that Prowl could do.

Ratchet found the code within Jazz's processor after he had spent hours stabilizing Jazz's half-destroyed systems. His processor had fractured into partitions, separating out his operating systems and vital functions from his memories and from his input channels. Cross links were broken and new crossovers were forged, systems routed and rerouted throughout his helm in a patchwork of disorganized chaos. Ratchet hadn't known what to make of it.

"Is it a virus?" Prowl asked.

"I don't know," Ratchet growled, glaring at the readouts alongside Prowl.

"Is it damage from an attack?"

"I don't know."

"Could he have been captured and tortured?" Prowl hated himself for asking.

"I don't know!" Ratchet's hand had slapped down at the terminal in frustration. "I slagging don't know, Prowl! I've never seen this before!"

Ratchet had tried to manually rework Jazz's processor, but new blocks had been set up, his firewalls restrengthened to protect against Ratchet's work, and Jazz had been isolated within his own ravaged processor, fighting unseen demons as he trembled, moaned and cried out on the medberth. His vitals ran hot, strained from the exertions of his broken processor.

No one had known what to do.

The _Ark_ shook again, the lights fading off for a long moment in time with another muffled boom.

Prowl still didn't know what to do.

Jazz shook his helm and tried to swallow as he stared back at Prowl. His hand squeezed down. "Soundwave," Jazz choked out. "He was in my helm. In my mind."

Prowl met Ratchet's shocked expression over Jazz's body. Was that what had caused Jazz's processor fracturing and fragmenting? How was that even possible?

Jazz shrieked, throwing his helm back against the berth as his ragged vocalizer shorted out. His visor flared and went dark as his vents wheezed and his body began to tremble.

Ratchet's terminal wailed, alerts flashing. "The partitions are falling!" Ratchet shouted.

"They're coming, they're coming, they're coming," Jazz whispered, chanting. He cringed, squeezing his optics shut.

Prowl forced himself back to the present situation. He focused himself in, pushing away everything else except the variables and factors of the battle at hand. He turned back to Jazz. "Jazz, what do they know? You need to tell me."

"Everything," Jazz whimpered.

"I need to know specifics, Jazz. Tell me what they know!" Prowl's voice rose as the medbay shook once more and the sounds of Seeker thrusters and laser fire echoed far closer than before. More supplies slid from the back stores before the shelf itself toppled over, crashing to the ground.

"My command codes. They're going to use my access to get into our mainframe..." Jazz voice trailed off as his processor surged, the collapsing partitions reverberating around his helm in white shocks and fits of corruption and sparks. Ratchet cursed bitterly, moving fast.

"What else? Everything, Jazz!" Prowl's voice was sharp and harsh.

Ratchet glared at Prowl. "He can't answer you! He's dying, Prowl! Let me save him before you start interrogating him!"

Prowl spared one moment to glance at Ratchet. "Keep him alive and keep him conscious. I need to know what's going on." Ratchet scoffed, biting back a curse for Prowl. He descended on Jazz's seizing body, trying to hack into his processor's electron flow.

Prowl tried to activate his comm line, trying to reach the Command Deck. Dead air and static were all he heard, on all channels. He turned to Mirage. "Mirage, get up to the Command Deck and brief Wheeljack. Tell him to start insulating our mainframe!"

Mirage turned and fled, hobbling away on his half-repaired knee joint.

* * *

"What the frag is this?" Ironhide bellowed, frowning. The Command Deck shook, mechs stumbling off balance as another surprise volley of Seeker fire impacted their base. Prime's confused gaze met his across the deck, just as Huffer fell to the floor.

"We're under attack! Autobots, roll out!" Prime swept the deck, surveying the chaos and confusion before dropping down into his alt mode. Mechs followed, each transforming and driving after Prime and Ironhide. Heavy incoming fire continued to shake their base all around, and bulkheads began to fall as they drove through the corridors. Bumblebee dodged a jagged piece of collapsing bulkhead before it gashed his front end. He nearly swerved into Cliffjumper and almost clipped his side.

Prime tried to comm Prowl, but his comm line stuttered and fritzed, squealing high pitched before dying out completely. Static was all that remained.

Ironhide, next to Prime, heard the sounds of the charging Decepticons first. He bristled, his alt mode rocking on its chassis as they floored through the final stretch of their base before the blast doors led them out of the _Ark_. "How'd they get past our defenses?"

"I do not know, Ironhide," Prime rumbled beside him, his engine already roaring to full throttle. "Something is very wrong." The blast doors neared, and the sounds of the Decepticons charging mixed with the roars of the Seekers screeching overhead, and it seemed that the whole of the world was ending just outside their base. Prime turned his attentions back to the Autobots behind him, his booming voice echoing down the corridor. "Autobots! Stick together! We fight as one!" His processor unhelpfully supplied a quiet, following thought: _We die together as well_.

Sunlight and a perfectly clear sky stretched overhead. The Seeker's contrails made tight loops and whirls across the sky in a dance of destruction. Fires raged around their volcano, trees and shrubs lit ablaze with the streaking laser fire. Piles of rocks and debris, boulders torn loose from the side of the mountain, blocked their exit. Prime transformed and clambered over the rock-strewn passage as he barreled out of the _Ark_.

His optics spotted Megatron descending a nearby hillside, a wicked, dark smirk on his face. Prime raised his rifle, fully charged, and swept it in an arc as he fired on the Decepticons racing the final few feet toward him. Next to Prime, Ironhide transformed with a raging shout, his own rifle firing before he was fully reformed.

The Stunticons merely smiled and kept coming.

Behind him, Prime heard the rest of the Autobots transforming as well. His optics were glued to Megatron. "Megatron!" Prime bellowed. He pointed his rifle at Megatron, his sworn-spark enemy, and began clearing a path to attack.

* * *

Jazz was still seizing on the berth, his jaw clenched and locked. Ratchet was furiously trying to sedate his systems as more and more peripheral lines blew apart under the pounding pressures of his lines and energon.

Prowl moved to the wall bank terminals, trying to secure access into the main Teletraan data banks and then through to the mainframe beneath. His way was blocked, choked by cascading viruses and firewalls that had never been there before.

The Decepticons were already in.

Blasts continued to rock the _Ark_ and the medbay, ever more violently and viciously. The medbay doors whirred open and Mirage limped through, a small hand-held scrambled comm unit in his hand. He tossed it through the air to Prowl, who caught it with a raised optic ridge.

"I grabbed these from the spec ops lockers. They're independent of Teletraan. Wheeljack has one, and you should be able to communicate with him now." Mirage hobbled up behind Prowl, seemingly intent on helping. His optics kept darting across the medbay toward Jazz and Ratchet.

Ratchet had Jazz's lines spiked with descending lines of high-powered gel sedatives, potent mixes that should physically slow down the flow and burn of his engine. Nothing else had worked thus far.

Prowl toggled the scrambled comm unit on and began scanning the frequencies. His comm stopped when it reached the only other channel with an active user. "Wheeljack?"

"Prowl!" Wheeljack's frantic voice blared through the speaker. "What's going on? Mirage said the 'Cons are attacking our mainframe? How the slag are they doing that?"

"They've got access codes. They're already burrowing in. Are you on the Command Deck?"

"Yeah, just getting there now. This place is taking a real beating!" Blasts echoed across their comm link.

"Try to get into Teletraan. I'm running up against Decepticon code. I can't get past the hypervisor." Prowl worked over the terminal bank, trying to coax anything out of their mainframe. "It's locked down tight," Prowl growled.

Blasts shook the medbay, and Prowl had to grab onto the terminal banks to steady himself. Mirage wasn't as lucky, and with his damaged knee not bearing weight, he went tumbling to the floor. The lights flickered and offlined, then surged back on.

Prowl reached down to help Mirage back to his feet. Ratchet was cursing bitterly, a violent stream of epitaphs flowing from his vocalizer. Jazz's sedative lines had torn out as he nearly fell off the medberth, and Ratchet was struggling to center him back on the berth. Jazz was half-conscious and he cried out, screaming through gritted denta. Mirage hobbled over to help as quickly as he could.

"Primus!" Prowl's handheld comm unit blared, Wheeljack's disembodied voice full of shock. "How'd they get into our systems?"

"They have command authorization codes."

"How? Whose?"

Wheeljack's incredulous, disbelieving voice grated on Prowl's audials. His optics flicked across the medbay, quickly glancing over Jazz's seizing body. He spoke simply, his voice tight. "Jazz."

* * *

Wheeljack stared at his handheld comm for a long moment, until the screaming approach of the Seekers and the explosion from their far-too-close strafing run rained sparks down around the Command Deck. He ducked, then turned all his attentions back to the main Teletraan data banks.

Jazz? Jazz had broken? Jazz had let his access codes be uncovered? Wheeljack couldn't ever have imagined that happening. Not ever.

Wheeljack's audial fins flashed as the first layer of malicious code greeted his queries into the systems. His optics raked over the programming pathways, following the travels of the codes through the outer layers of the hypervisor pathways.

"It's still trying to find the kernel," Wheeljack comm'd to Prowl. "If we can stop them before they get to the kernel, they won't be able to travel into the partitions of the mainframe."

"How do we do this, Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack's processor whirled. Computations and algorithms were spinning through his helm, containment programs he could write in nanoseconds. He could do so much, if the base wasn't falling down around them and they had more time. The code was moving too fast, and already it had accelerated just while he ruminated. He forced himself to make a decision.

"We have to separate all the subnets, Prowl. Break apart every DNS to a separate identity. Break the hypervisor. If we can scatter the 'Con code, we might be able to interrupt its pathway to the mainframe."

"Walk me through your plan." Prowl's voice was drowned out by the sudden deafening roar of Seeker thrusters booming directly overhead the volcano opening and echoing down into the _Ark's_ Command Deck. Seconds later, the roar of a dropping missile whizzed from above.

Wheeljack barely had time to duck before the Command Deck was enveloped in a cacophony of destructive sound and terrible light, exploding with a scream of screeching metal on metal.

* * *

Ironhide blasted his way across the dusty field, stained with energon and fluids from mechs of both sides. The twins were fighting off the Combaticons, but they were slowly being overwhelmed. Ironhide fired again, zeroing in on Onslaught. Vortex took off in a hurry, hovering overhead as Blast Off and Brawl whirled on Ironhide.

"Sideswipe! Sunstreaker!" Ironhide shouted, close enough where they could hear him over the roar of the battle. "Get those Seekers out of the sky! They're destroying the _Ark_!" Ironhide turned and fired on Vortex, trying to get the twins some maneuvering room. Sideswipe nodded as Sunstreaker scrambled away, crawling up the vertical cliff face behind them, beating and crushing handholds and footholds into the rocky mountainside. Sideswipe followed as the Seekers streaked overhead, trying to pick the twins off as the climbed, totally exposed.

Ironhide fired on Thundercracker, then strafed Skywarp. Both jets swerved, evasive patterns automatically settling in to escape. Starscream broke off, climbing high in a straight arc before wheeling on Ironhide.

The rest of the Combaticons refocused their attentions on Ironhide as well, and as Vortex's slow whooping of his rotors closed in and Brawl's angry, hoarse shouts bellowed across the dusty divide and Starscream's laser fire began impacting at the dust around his feet, Ironhide realized this probably wasn't one of his best ideas.

* * *

"Wheeljack!" Wheeljack!" Prowl's voice crackled out of the handheld comm unit lying on the deck near Wheeljack's helm. His optics flickered as he slowly dragged himself back to the present. His processor echoed wildly, too much time passing between idle thoughts, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was flat on his front on the floor of the Command Deck.

It all roared back suddenly as a shower of sparks sprayed out from the terminals lining the far wall, their screens flickering and fading with disjointed information. Wheeljack scrambled for the comm unit, missing it the first time. "Prowl! I'm here!" Only one audial fin lit up as he spoke, the other dark and offline.

"Walk me through your plan, Wheeljack!" Prowl shouted back through the crackling comm. "We're losing time. Systems have failed all over the _Ark_. If they get mainframe control they can turn our weapons against us."

Wheeljack brushed debris from the Teletraan terminal. The screen was dim, but still functioning. His fingers furiously worked over the input keys. "Break the subnet. Cut all partition pathways back to Teletraan. Let each system stand independently." His processor whirled as the data flew by on the screen, the charging Decepticon virus burrowing deeper into their processor. "Prowl, disconnect the medbay, navigation, sciences, research, astrometrics, and engineering. The 'Cons are already into the other areas. I'm going to try and isolate them within those subnets."

Prowl's voice crackled across the comm unit. "Astrometrics and navigation? Those haven't been online since the crash."

"Doesn't matter. They still have pathways to the kernel. Break every subnet off." Wheeljack didn't hear a response from Prowl. He had to be already diving into the networks, trying to root out the connection pathways that united the partitions of the hypervisor into the Teletraan uplink before becoming subsumed into the greater kernel of the mainframe. The kernel existed at the base of the Teletraan operating system, connecting all the subnets of the hypervisor before plugging directly into the quantum mainframe of the _Ark_. The _Ark_ held the last mainframe of the Autobots, and the last independent system from the Decepticons in the galaxy.

* * *

"I've broken the subnets, Wheeljack," Prowl comm'd. He had worked quickly through the areas the Decepticon virus had not invaded, messily junking up the network strings and communications. Errors flashed across his screen, angry warnings and flashing lights.

Mirage hovered over his shoulder, warily glancing back toward Jazz and Ratchet every few moments. Jazz was panting, barely breathing, as his processor steadily overheated. Ratchet did what he could, cursing and grabbing at his tools and parts and sedatives to try to bring down Jazz's systems. Not much was working.

Wheeljack's frustrated voice broke over the comm unit, static laced behind his words. "Prowl, something's wrong. I've shattered the hypervisor, but the virus is still moving forward. It's getting too close to the kernel."

Prowl's lines iced over. The lights in the medbay flickered and died, plunging the entire section of the _Ark_ into blackness as the computer systems sputtered and failed, compromised entirely from the Decepticon code. Mirage jerked behind Prowl as Ratchet spat out a violent string of rough curses. He called for Mirage, barking out the spy's name as Jazz groaned, barely conscious. The only illumination in the entire bay was the fractal emissions of their azure optics.

"Oh, that's not good," Wheeljack whispered. "Prowl, you said Jazz was the one who had given them the command codes?" Prowl bristled, his doorwings flying up in the darkness. Mirage's helm twisted, glaring harshly back in Prowl's direction.

"I said no such thing," Prowl replied, a bit too strongly.

Wheeljack ignored Prowl's personal affront. "Whatever he has, whatever access his position in Special Operations has granted him, they're still able to use it. They're still burrowing, and I can't stop them. I don't know how. I don't know what they've got from Jazz." Wheeljack's fingers flew over the input keys again. "I need to know from Jazz what they've got. Why they're able to get to the mainframe when I can't."

Prowl twisted, staring through the darkness at Jazz's trembling frame. Ratchet and Mirage's headlights were on, casting odd shadows and harsh angles all around the berthing area. Jazz's body was contorted in pain, his face twisted in agony. Seizures still controlled his movements, and Ratchet's was cursing in one long unending stream.

"Hold him!" Ratchet snapped to Mirage. "If we don't get his engine under control, he's going to burst every line in his body! He'll leak to death from blown energon!" Mirage's hands pressed down on Jazz's shoulders, though Jazz reflexively tried to twist away, still gasping for breath. His engine roared, racing at peak speeds without enough air or power to sustain itself.

Ratchet fumbled on his now-disorganized medcart, reaching for his coiled tubing for a forced intubation of O2 to Jazz's starved engine. He plugged one end to the O2 pump and moved to Jazz's helm, forcefully pinning Jazz back to the berth as he tried to pop Jazz's clenched jaw open. "I've got to get air down into his internals."

Prowl stepped forward, moving to the end of Jazz's medberth. "Ratchet, wait."

* * *

Prime swung his electron axe wide, barely grazing a sweeping blow across Megatron's chest. "Your trickery is getting old, Megatron," Prime warned. "Whatever scheme you've come up with now will fail."

Megatron grinned wickedly as he swirled his electrified mace. "You are a fool, Prime! You always have been. You always will be. I have already destroyed you and you don't even know it!" He swung, flinging his mace at Prime's head.

Prime ducked, diving for the ground as he pulled his rifle from subspace and rolled, trying to fire on Megatron. Megatron drove down on him, trying to pound Prime's helm into the dust with the next swing of his mace. Prime subspaced his rifle and rolled, bringing his electron axe back out as he pushed himself up to his feet and circled Megatron once again.

Megatron's flashing, crimson optics stared back at him, pulsing with rage and battle lust. "I defeated you with your closest confidant, Prime. I always told you: your trust and faith in others was your weakness. Perhaps now, you will learn!" Megatron lunged as he spoke. Prime tried to duck, but the mace grazed across his back, scoring deep into the plating and knocking him off balance. He fell to the ground, twisting as he grunted.

Megatron laughed as he moved closer.

* * *

Prowl moved quickly to Jazz's side at the medberth, his body cutting off the harsh beams of light from Mirage's headlights and casting Jazz in dark, angular shadows. He leaned low over Jazz's helm, his optics the only light shining on his face. Jazz was whimpering, barely contained whispers and moues of pain slipping from his lips as he trembled. Smoke and the burning tang of fluids evaporating from his dry internals permeated the air.

"What the frag are you doing, Prowl?" Ratchet hollered, trying to push him away. "I've got to bring his engine back down!" He forced Jazz's helm down to the berth as he positioned the O2 line over Jazz's throat.

"Wait." Prowl's hand shot out, stilling Ratchet's movements. Ratchet sputtered, glaring murderously at Prowl. He tried to speak, but Prowl beat him to it.

"Jazz," Prowl began, leaning half over the berth until his face was directly above Jazz's, bare inches separating them. "The Decepticons are still getting into our mainframe. We've tried to stop them, but is there something you know that we don't? Do you have access that we don't know about?" His optics searched Jazz's, their gaze's seared together.

Jazz's denta were clattering, his optics squeezed shut. He grunted, trying to speak, and his visor crackled with electrical surges.

"Jazz, please! We don't have much time!" Prowl pleaded with his friend.

"You're _killing_ him, Prowl!" Ratchet bellowed, shaking his arm free. He reached for Jazz's helm again, trying to force him flat to the berth surface for the intubation.

Jazz gasped, trying to drag in air that wasn't there, that wasn't reaching his engine. He stared at Prowl, his lips moving slowly around faint words. Prowl leaned close, pressing his audial against Jazz's mouth and finally heard the raspy, broken vocalizer of his friend. "Shadow… hypervisor…." Jazz whispered.

"How do I find it?" Prowl's optics burned down into Jazz's. "How do I find it, Jazz?"

"Primus," Mirage whispered, pointing his headlights down to Prowl's hip. Jazz's fingers were shakily drawing out glyphs and symbols, key codes and a messy network path against Prowl's armor, drawn with the energon that had spilled from his burst lines and pooled on the berth surface. Fluorescent purple codes stood out in harsh relief against Prowl's black plating.

The distraction was enough for Ratchet. He yanked Jazz down, pulling him from Prowl's grasp and pinned him back to the berth. Jazz fell back, his visor offlining just before Ratchet tilted his forehelm back and guided the intubation tube down his open throat, effectively silencing him.

Prowl and Mirage sprinted back to the flickering terminals, and as Prowl grabbed the comm unit to Wheeljack again, Mirage banged on the housing of the terminal screen, trying to keep it illuminated. It flickered, faded, and then surged back on.

"Wheeljack!" Prowl shouted. His energon was pounding through his lines, roaring in his audials. The sounds of the battle were echoing through the underpowered corridors, echoing off the metal catacombs of the _Ark_. "I've got the network string and DNS for the shadow hypervisor!"

"Shadow hypervisor?"

"Something Jazz knew about. I'm cutting the connections now. Get ready to quarantine and purge the virus from comms and tactical. We've got to help them out there!"

"Got it!"

Prowl held his breath as he input the code to first find and then break the secondary hypervisor uniting the main operational systems of Teletraan. Slowly, the links fell, one by one, and finally they were free.

"It's done!" Prowl cried, just as Wheeljack called back. "The 'Con code has stopped!"

Suddenly, Jazz shrieked, screaming in wet gurgles around the intubation tube lodged in his throat and his engine. Prowl and Mirage whirled around, their headlights flashing toward the medberth.

Teletraan cut out entirely, the operational computer offlining throughout the _Ark_.

* * *

"I would love it," Sideswipe shouted to his brother. "If the _Ark_ would start helping us out out here!" Skywarp turned, plunging in a barrel roll away from Thundercracker and taking Sideswipe – chassis deep in his cockpit internals – with him.

Sunstreaker's optics followed their descent, his gaze glued to the red plating of his brother before shifting back to Thundercracker. He reached down, grasping an elevator and jerking it hard, tearing the plating and wiring and separating the part from Thundercracker's main hull. Thundercracker howled in pain and sped faster, trying to pluck Sunstreaker from his plating with the sheer wind forces. Sunstreaker forced himself to hang on as he pitched the torn elevator over his shoulder.

Below, Prime rolled sideways as Megatron swung again, burying his mace in the dirt and cleaving a crevice where Prime's helm had just been. Prime bounded to his feet, spinning to take on Megatron hand-to-hand. Megatron abandoned his mace in the dirt and turned as well, eager for the chance to crush Prime with his bare fists.

"Your problem, Megatron," Prime began. "Is that you have always underestimated the power of faith."

"Faith," Megatron spat back. "A concept of fools. Sparkling comforts for feeble minds!" He snarled, the two of them circling each other, waiting to strike. "You can only know _truth_ through strength and power!"

It was merely the perfect happenstance of chance and circumstance that had Megatron facing away from the _Ark_ when the power surged back online. Prime's optics shone, his visor brilliantly illuminating as first his comm crackled back to life. The defensive batteries surged, rising from their recessed turrets and swiveling around to hone in on the Decepticons. Laser fire charged up and then exploded out of each battery, picking off the Decepticons one by one.

The _Ark_ was back.

Megatron whirled at the sounds of the battle shifting, the intense energy surges of the artillery laser fire and the sudden panic breaking over the Decepticon comm network. Prime grinned wide behind his battle mask and leapt, striking Megatron across the back and knocking him to the dirt.

"It seems my faith has never been misplaced, Megatron," Prime said, pride in his soldiers and his team evident. His hands clenched at his sides, eager to strike once more. "You are, once again, mistaken."

Megatron snarled, preparing to rise up to fight back, but a series of laser bursts strafed the dirt between them from above, raining debris and shattered rock across their plating. Prime fell back, raising his arm to shield himself as Starscream screamed in and abruptly transformed just before he impacted the ground.

Starscream whirled and fired on Prime, pushing him back further. Prime ran for his rifle, several feet away.

"You fool!" Megatron screamed, seething. "Your plan has failed entirely! It is but another in your long history of failure and incompetence!" Megatron reached out, grabbing at Starscream's wing to crush him beneath his grasp.

"We can still turn this into a victory, Megatron!" Starscream wailed. "It is not _my_ fault that Soundwave failed to kill the Autobot!" He snarled, twisting away from Megatron. "We still have all of their allied information. We can still break the humans!"

Megatron snarled once more, disgust at Starscream clearly evident. His optics caught on Prime, training his rifle on them both and waiting to fire. "You fool!" he shouted, initiating his transformation. "You should have shot us when you had the chance!" Starscream's hands caught his alt mode, and as he rose into the air, Megatron and Prime fired on each other.

"Decepticons, retreat!" Starscream cried out over the Decepticon comm network. "We have other targets to destroy!"

Megatron allowed himself to be carried away by Starscream, rising with the Seeker into the sky as his soldiers fell back and regrouped for the next strike against the humans. "Your destruction has only just begun!" he called back down to Prime.

The Autobot leader slowly faded away as they rose, the entire battlefield turning to nothing more than dots and specks against the greater red desert, the _Ark's_ laser fire merely sparks of lightening amongst the clouds.

* * *

Prime and Prowl stood together, watching over Jazz on his medberth. The terminals beeped softly nearby, tracking his recovering vitals. Ratchet worked at the far side of the medbay, trying to fix his damaged shelves and toppled stores. Anger shrouded Ratchet's body, and he slammed his parts and equipment back into their places with too much force.

Prime sighed deeply. "How did this happen?"

Prowl shook his helm and looked sideways to his leader. Angry scorch marks and scratches marred Prime's plating. "I do not know, Prime."

Silence followed. "We are very lucky that this did not turn out worse." Prime's voice rumbled through the depth of his vocalizer.

Prowl's doorwings arched high. "It's not luck. Jazz was able to help our recovery."

"This is fortunate, considering he is also the source of the breach of information." Prime's optics never left Jazz's body.

"Something was _done_ to him, Prime. He would _never_ betray us willingly." Prowl's doorwings remained firm and fixed high on his backplates, taut with tension.

"Of that, I am sure," Prime rumbled once more. "But that does not change this unfortunate outcome. We need to know what damage we have sustained." He paused. "Our allies are already reporting losses and attacks. I can only send out so much help before we are spread too thin."

Prowl nodded, his helm jerking up and down once. The extent of the damage from Jazz's slip would be catastrophic, once all calculated.

"Stay with him, Prowl. Primus knows what he's been through, and he's going to need a friend." Prime turned to Prowl. "We also need to know what's happening. As soon as possible."

Prowl nodded again. He wouldn't be leaving Jazz's side. Not ever.

* * *

Jazz fidgeted in his chair, plucking at the static bandage covering his lower arm. His lines had had to be repaired or replaced, and the static bandage was covering the last of the repairs as the fragile transplanted lines settled into his systems.

He'd been in the medbay for almost two weeks, slowly healing under Ratchet's care. His physical injuries were a combination of the battle he'd been in and his crash through the swamp mixed with the physical aftereffects of Soundwave's telepathic interference and the wanton destruction his processor had wreaked on his systems. It had taken a Primusly long time to get his systems back to regular operation and back to equilibrium.

He didn't know if his spark would ever be back to normal.

Jazz couldn't escape his memories, no matter how hard he tried, and the faster he wanted to run, the deeper he wanted to fall. Shame filled him, suffused his spark and his soul. He'd never felt so alone, despite Ratchet and Prowl trying to help. Late at night, when everything was dark and silent, Jazz whispered frantic pleas to himself, gasping and pleading with wild, panicked hysteria. What he wanted, he could never, ever have.

He pushed off recharge as best he could, forcing himself to stay online by talking to himself, singing out loud, or berating himself in a ceaseless loop, for all his folly and ridiculous, and for all of his mistakes.

Every single night, he lay awake, praying and pleading with the universe to let him wake back up in his other reality.

What had he done? What had he become? A traitor. A tool of their enemy. A willing, complicit traitor. He'd failed everyone, failed everything. He hadn't been strong enough, and the bitterest, harshest truth about the whole situation was that he had _welcomed_ it. He'd _loved_ it. He hadn't been strong enough to shield himself from his spark's desire, and from the force of a love that had redefined his entire existence.

He wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back every second of every minute of every day. He wanted to go back to a world of light and softness and energon crackles, and of a whole, vibrant Cybertron. Of music and gentle hand holds. Of sunsets on rooftops and soft kisses. Of no war. Of love.

The emptiness in Jazz spark was a yearning, screaming yaw of anguish and censure. How could he have been so stupid? Why couldn't it have been real? How could he have not _seen_ the deception? Why didn't Soundwave love him back?

He remembered everything, _everything_, every touch, every lingering hand hold, and every gentle kiss. Every soft brush of their hands. Every motion of their bodies, moving in time with each other. The sound of Soundwave's breaths, panting and hot and breathing Jazz's name. He remembered _everything_.

Prowl cleared his throat, politely trying to catch Jazz's ever-wandering attentions. Jazz's helm snapped up, and he berated himself for losing focus once again. "Sorry," he mumbled, his gaze falling back down to his static bandage as his fingers worked over the frayed edge.

Prowl hadn't left Jazz's side until he had pleaded with Prowl to just let him be. He wasn't worth Prowl's effort, certainly not worth the monopolization of Prowl's time. From the moment he had onlined in the medbay, Prowl had been there, right at his berthside. He'd done his best to explain to Jazz, in his halting, official way, pushing aside all emotions, just what had happened. Jazz already knew the worst of it; Prowl merely filled in the details.

But, Prowl didn't know the full depth of all that had transpired. Jazz had only revealed small pieces of information, tiny fragments to help Ratchet understand the damage Soundwave had wrought on his processor. They learned Soundwave had trapped Jazz in a fake reality, created and sustained entirely within a coded and subsumed telepathic link, deeply embedded within Jazz's processor during his and Mirage's battle with the Decepticons the previous month. They knew the memories of the experience were real, tangible, and hardwired into his processor.

Prowl had leaned close to Jazz and taken his hand within both of his own one day, gentleness and tenderness and softness that was so un-Prowl-like falling from him in such quantities that Jazz froze at the sight. "I cannot imagine what you went through," Prowl had rumbled, his vocalizer tumbling over the words. "We're all here for you, Jazz. We'll get through this."

Jazz had stared at him, knowing Prowl had no clue what he had experienced, knowing that Prowl had no clue Jazz was mourning the loss of his fantasy life, his telepathic reality away from his real existence. Jazz could never, _never_ let Prowl see just how broken he truly was. Prowl could never understand, not ever, how Jazz felt… and how he hatefully yearned to return. The normal reaction would be to hate what had happened to him, to hate Soundwave, to hate every violation he'd experienced.

But instead he _yearned_. And he burned with need, with desire. With unshed want.

Shame drowned his spark at all times, suffocating him entirely.

Ratchet had finally kicked him from the medbay, placing him on medical leave from duties. Jazz had dreaded those first few steps out of the medbay, those first steps back to a life he didn't want. Prowl, naturally, had been there waiting for him, and Jazz was ushered to Prowl's office. Their walk had been silent, bitterly uncomfortable.

"I know this is going to be uncomfortable for you," Prowl began, his words stumbling over each other. "We can stop at any time."

Jazz nodded, his lips pressing together in a thin line. He kept his gaze downcast.

"It's just that we need to know, Jazz, what happened. We need to know what they managed to gain access to, and how they were able to do so." Prowl studied Jazz carefully. "Our mainframe is still locked down. We've begun to rebuild the hypervisor network, but we're rebuilding the code from scratch to ensure there is no residual possibility of an infiltration. We've also purged your command access, for the time being."

Jazz flinched and nodded again, his fingers scrapping over his static bandage. One edge lifted away, cracking apart from the rest of the hard plastic. Soft, viscous gel lined the undersurface, sticking to Jazz's plating and his exposed internals.

"Let's start at the beginning." Prowl shifted in his chair and straightened a data pad on his desktop. It was the only thing before him, and he shifted its frame minutely, aligning it at perfect right angles from the desktop surface. His hands traced over the pad's housing. "We know that you and Mirage were led into a trap, and that the both of you were ambushed. You ordered Mirage to head back to base. After some initial resistance, Mirage relented and began to call for reinforcements. He was attacked before he could reach us." Prowl paused. "How you ended up miles from Mirage and from your target, swallowed up in a swamp, is still a mystery."

Jazz shrugged, slumping. He glanced up, finally meeting Prowl's gaze. His visor was dim, underpowered, and he swallowed heavily before he spoke. "I can't really tell you," he said softly, shaking his helm. "I remember the battle. We were taking heavy fire. I remember ordering Mirage away. I tried to lead them off his trail. I was running through the forest… and then everything went white." Jazz looked down again. "I don't remember anything else."

"Were you captured?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Ratchet didn't find any physical evidence of Decepticon capture in his exam, but, you were in such bad shape when we did find you that any evidence might have been lost." Prowl tried to meet Jazz's optics, but Jazz refused to meet his gaze. "If you can remember anything, anything at all, that might help us figure out how this happened."

Jazz swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling. "All I remember is screaming. And… pressure. Like I was being crushed. And then… I woke up."

"Here?"

Jazz shook his helm, his lips pressed together. "No," he whispered. "I woke up with Soundwave."

Silence stretched between them for a long, horrible moment. Prowl shifted, his doorwings rising out of their joints as the tension bloomed through the office. His fingers traced around the data pad, sliding down the edges in perfect alignment.

Finally, Prowl spoke. "What happened?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Jazz barely responded. His expression fell apart, cracking as he bit his lip. A soft gasp pushed from his vocalizer, and he had to look down again. He exhaled, a ragged drag of hot air.

Prowl's doorwings rocketed upward. "I'm sorry, Jazz," he said quickly. "I don't mean to put you through this again. I can only imagine the torture they subjected you to-"

Jazz cut him off a whisper. "It wasn't torture."

"What?" Prowl's vocalizer shorted, his fingers pushing his data pad out of alignment on the desk.

Jazz finally looked up. He pushed his chin forward, clenching his jaw. "I woke up on Cybertron. In my house. With my lover."

Prowl frowned. His hands froze, his finger's obsessive tracing of the data pad halting. "I thought you said you woke up with Soundwave there?"

Jazz smiled bitterly, devoid of warmth and full of self-mockery. "Yes." He nodded.

Prowl's jaw dropped open and he stared at Jazz, unable to hide the raw shock spilling from his optics. He nearly crushed the data pad, almost snapped its casing in half. His processor stumbled over Jazz's words, not wanting to believe what he heard. "When were you and Soundwave lovers?" He had thought he had known everything of Jazz's past, but this new revelation was threatening to break apart everything Prowl thought he knew.

Swallowing, Jazz shook his helm. "It wasn't a memory." At least, not then, it hadn't been. He snorted softly to himself. "But, in the universe of our telepathic link, in that reality he built for us... We were lovers." Jazz looked away, biting hard on his lip. "The war never happened. Cybertron was still whole and online. I had processor damage and delusions. Delusions of an apocalyptic war between good and evil." Jazz fixed Prowl with a harsh stare.

Prowl's hands finally righted his data pad. "I see."

"My psychologist was working to keep me within reality, and was trying to heal me of the delusions. We were right on the edge of a breakthrough. I was almost healed."

Alarmed, Prowl's doorwings flickered. "Jazz, you aren't broken. You aren't delusional. There is no alternate reality."

Jazz cocked his helm as he stared back at Prowl, an odd sensation of déjà vu passing through him. Thundercracker's face swam before his visor, overlaying on Prowl's, the both of them telling him that _their_ reality was the correct one and that he had to discard the other. Thundercracker's image shifted, his optics pulsing with bitter hate, and the image shifted to Prowl. Suddenly, Prowl was staring at him with hatred and mockery and contempt. Jazz shivered, cycling his optics, and the image was gone.

Still, the memory remained. Thundercracker's voice echoed throughout Jazz's helm: _We need to break the ties that bind you to your fantasy. Your fantasy is set up within your own mind, and sustained by your need for the fantasy to continue. We can break your need for the fantasy by eliminating your confidence in its necessity._

"Was your therapist Soundwave?" Prowl balanced the data pad between his hands, pressing against the casing.

Jazz shook his helm. "Thundercracker."

Prowl started. "Thundercracker? How could he ever be a psychologist?"

Smiling, Jazz tilted his helm, irony filling his tone. "If there was no war, then why couldn't Thundercracker be a psychologist? What would you be, if you weren't the SIC? If all I knew was a delusion, then how could I know that Thundercracker couldn't be a psychologist?"

Prowl's doorwings slumped, falling flat. He stared at Jazz. "That is effective logic, and one that you cannot fight if you truly believe you are broken. Your agency was placed within the hands of your caregivers, those who were supposed to help you."

Jazz nodded. "I _wanted_ to be fixed, Prowl. Can you imagine? Cybertron whole? No war? A life without pain and death and always worrying about the next battle, the next ration, or the humans being caught in the middle of this war? Letting go of everything dark? Primus, I wanted it so _badly_, Prowl!"

Prowl sucked in a harsh breath at Jazz's words. It was all so different, so very different from what he had imagined. He had wanted to be strong for Jazz, to help him heal through his nightmare and his trauma. Now, he felt as if he was falling through the floor, and it was he who needed the help now. He who needed to be rescued from the mess of the terrible situation. "How did they get your command codes? Access to your information?"

Jazz looked down as he picked at his static bandage. He swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling. "I told them," he said softly, not looking up. "I told them everything. I did it freely. I _wanted_ to tell them." He vividly remembered his promise to Soundwave, his promise to heal and to be the lover that Soundwave, with all his unending love, had deserved. He remembered the feel of Soundwave's lips against his, the strength of his arms wrapped around his body, and the sighs and whispers of their breaths and plating. "I _wanted_ to tell them," he repeated, whispering.

Silence.

Prowl frowned, looking away. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. The gears stuck in his throat. His optics burned, staring at the bulkhead, the terminal, the data pad, anywhere but at Jazz. Finally, he spoke. "I see," he said, his voice clipped. His hands were frozen flat against the desk next to his data pad. He was supposed to be taking notes, helping to understand what had happened. He didn't understand a single thing. Not any more.

"I…" Prowl began. His gears clenched, cutting off his voice. "I stayed in the medbay with you, when you were locked in the telepathic uplink. We didn't know what was going on. After, when we figured out what it was, I thought you had been… attacked." Prowl swallowed. Part of his processor screamed at him to stop, to not ask the question. His gears locked again, and Prowl had to force himself to speak. "I thought that because I heard you moaning. I heard you whimpering. I thought -" Prowl's voice cut out.

Jazz flinched. His backstruts zinged, tingling with the memories of him and Soundwave. He could feel Soundwave's body on his, feel him underneath him, feel his warmth. His body betrayed him, his systems revving.

Jazz shook his helm. "I wasn't attacked," he whispered.

Prowl's hands gripped down on the edges of his data pad. His thumbs pressed hard against the glass, creaking the delicate surface. "Were you happy?" he whispered.

Jazz nodded, not looking up.

The data pad fractured.

* * *

Sideswipe was surprised to see Prowl lingering outside of the _Ark_ that evening. Prowl rarely ventured outside for such mundane things as stargazing or fresh air, but there he was, perched on a high rock and gazing up at the starry night spread out above him. Sideswipe smiled and padded over, clambering up the rock side noisily.

Prowl didn't move. He sighed as Sideswipe tumbled down next to him, inelegantly folding his legs and arms around his sprawl. "Sideswipe," Prowl said softly, his own form of greeting.

"Heya Prowl," Sideswipe replied, smiling. "I don't normally see you out here." Prowl didn't answer, didn't move. Something prickled at the back of Sideswipe's processor, but he chose to ignore it. He so rarely got the chance to spend any time with Prowl at all, aside from brief chats on the Command Deck or in the Rec Room. Discipline meetings didn't count at all. "How's everything going with Jazz?"

Prowl's breath hitched, choking on his gears. Silence stretched long, and Prowl didn't move a micron.

Sideswipe cringed. Not the best choice in topic. He tried to veer back to safer territory. "Blue's got this great new game. We're trying to beat this bad boss in one of the levels, but it's pretty hard. We need a full team, but there are only three of us." He grinned at Prowl's profile. "It's a four person game." In the past, when he had teased Prowl about joining in on their video games, he'd always received an arched optic ridge and promise to assign more work details, since there was clearly an abundance of free time in the ranks. They'd banter back and forth, Prowl would mock him to play a grown mech's game, and Sideswipe would pull a face. Once, he'd called Prowl on it and tried to actually play Levels with him, but Prowl hadn't believed Sideswipe was serious.

Prowl still didn't move, didn't respond at all. Sideswipe frowned, and opened his mouth.

Prowl finally spoke. "What are you doing here, Sideswipe?"

Sideswipe flinched. He had hoped his presence wasn't that onerous to Prowl. "Just getting out of my quarters for a bit," he sighed. "Giving Blue and Sunny some time to themselves." He shrugged, his good mood evaporating. "What are you doing out here?"

Prowl didn't answer Sideswipe, again. Sideswipe was just beginning to fidget, his presence clearly unwanted and undesired, and was getting ready to slink off when Prowl spoke. "Did you attack the Decepticons with your usual fervor and battle lust, Sideswipe?"

Sideswipe froze. "Yes," he said warily. Prowl occasionally berated him and Sunstreaker for their recklessness, both in battle and off duty.

"_Good_." Prowl finally turned. His optics burned, rage pouring from within in waves of unending raw energy. His jaw was clenched, the gears grinding against each other. "_Good_," he hissed again.

Sideswipe stared back, open mouthed.

* * *

Soundwave was glued to his monitor screen, the grainy images his cassette sent back magnified as high as it could go. His optics traced over the angles of the on-screen face, once so familiar. His optics burned behind his visor, tracing over the mech's long lines and the curve of his face on the monitor screen.

Jazz sat in the far corner in the _Ark's_ Rec Room, pushing an untouched cube of energon back and forth across the tabletop. Every so often he would stop and pick at the static bandage along his arm, fraying and cracking the seals in longer lines up his plating.

Some time ago, Prowl had walked in. Soundwave's entire body had tensed, the memories racing through his processor unbidden: Jazz's admitting his affection for Prowl, his desire for his fellow officer. His _honest_ desire. Soundwave swallowed, his hands clenching to fists as he stared at the scene before him. Prowl had joined Jazz, sitting right next to each other, their helms close and voices pitched low.

"I won't leave you to face this alone, Jazz," Prowl promised. "It's difficult for me to comprehend-"

"Try living it," Jazz interrupted, cracking another seal on his static bandage.

Prowl smiled without humor. "Indeed. It's unimaginably worse for you. I will not leave you, Jazz. We're going to get through this. I promise." He ducked his helm, forcing their optics to meet. Jazz smiled finally, hesitantly, and Prowl snaked their fingers together. Prowl squeezed, and Jazz gasped, pain flaring up his forearm.

"What is it?" Prowl asked, pulling his hand away.

Jazz's hand rubbed up and down his bandage, finally tearing the entire broken seal from his plating. Exposed transplanted internals lay beneath, still settling into place. "It hurts," Jazz said, rubbing his wrist.

Soundwave's gaze mapped over every micron of the scene. His breath sped up, deep, heavy vents as he took in Prowl's devotion and Jazz's pain. His fists began to shake.

Prowl reached for Jazz's wrist, gently rolling it toward him. "Looks like you're healing well," he said, smiling up at Jazz. He reached into his subspace and pulled out a small repair kit, pulling out a spool of static bandage from inside.

Jazz snorted. "You are prepared for everything, aren't you?"

Prowl measured out a length of bandage for Jazz. "It is in the regulations for every officer to carry a repair kit on them at all times." He arched his optic ridges toward Jazz.

Jazz shrugged, looking down again. "Well, I've never been a good officer," he replied, his voice trailing off.

"That's not true." Prowl laid the bandage out over Jazz's plating, pressing lightly along the edges and rubbing over the surface to secure it in place. His thumbs rubbed small circles against Jazz's wrist and elbow joint. Jazz looked up, meeting Prowl's gaze.

Soundwave's entire soul burned, his optics flaring white-hot as he stared at the scene.

"Megatron to Soundwave." His comm burst online, crackling to life.

"Soundwave," he replied, droning his response as his gaze remained fixed on the screen. He offlined the audio but kept the visual feed.

"I need Laserbeak for a mission. Where is your cassette?"

Soundwave's tanks lurched. "Presently: Laserbeak off base on personal matters."

"Personal matters? Get him back here. Now. Time is running short." Megatron cut the line abruptly.

Soundwave swallowed, his helm tilting as he watched the _Ark_. He paused the image as Jazz smiled, a dry, wry smile, his helm twisting down and slightly away from Prowl. Their hands were tangled together again, and Prowl's thumb was stroking over the back of Jazz's hand. Soundwave's optics held on the curve of Jazz's lips, the tilt of his helm, the lines of his plating for as long as he dared.

Finally, he erased it, banishing all of the data. "Soundwave to Laserbeak: return to base immediately."

Laserbeak's electronic response beamed back to him instantly. "Unable to currently perform covert extraction."

"Presence required immediately. Megatron's orders."

"Discovery certain if present extraction occurs."

Soundwave hesitated.

Folly. Megatron's orders repeated in his helm. "Return to base immediately." Laserbeak chirped back an affirmative alongside his last data burst. A fresh picture of Jazz appeared on Soundwave's darkened screen, this time one of Jazz staring upward, nearly straight into Laserbeak's hidden location. Soundwave's spark leapt, the energon in his lines thrumming faster. _Jazz_…

Slowly, unbidden, his fingers rose, tracing over the curve of his helm and down his audial horns, his thumb trailing over the lines of his lips.

_Jazz…_

* * *

Laser fire tore through the Rec Room. Jazz had never seen Prowl move so fast, but when Laserbeak had descended from far above, tucked into the crevices and nooks of their crashed spaceship, Prowl had leapt over their table and unleashed against the small cassette. Jazz dove, sliding out his chair and crashing to the deck as Laserbeak squawked overhead and circled, evading Prowl's shots until he managed to escape upwards through the breaks in the hull and the volcano's darkness.

Prowl shouted into his comm, calling for the patrol to find Laserbeak and to bring him down, and for the _Ark's_ systems to track the smaller Decepticon. By the time everyone had reacted, Laserbeak had already slipped away, disappeared from their sensors and scans and had faded to nothing.

Jazz stared after Laserbeak, watching the cassette escape. He couldn't move, was frozen in place. Soundwave was there. Soundwave was _right there_, right there in this room with him. Laserbeak had been _watching_ him, watching them, and Soundwave was always on the other end of his cassettes. It was through an uplink, but Soundwave was _there_.

Possibility exploded out of Jazz's spark, quickly burrowing through his entire being, shifting and sliding against his fear and doubt and terror. Firestorms burst across his spark, yearning with everything he was.

He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop, and he clung to his deepest, darkest wonder with all of his being, and all of his hope.

Did Soundwave yearn for him too?


	6. Chapter 6

**Fracture Mechanics Six**

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't kill that Autobot!" Starscream shrieked, pacing furiously across the Command Deck of the _Nemesis_. "Did you even try?" He whirled on Soundwave.

Soundwave stood, stock still. Off to the side, Thundercracker leaned up against the bulkhead, looking for all the world as if he were utterly uninterested in the conversation as he feigned inspecting the paint on his fingers. His optics traced over Starscream's every movement, and as silence settled over the deck after Starscream's tirade, Thundercracker's optics slid to Soundwave.

Soundwave felt his gaze burn along every inch of his plating. Still, he remained stoic, impassive in the face of the Air Commander.

"I bet you didn't," Starscream purred, his heel thrusters clicking across the decking in a slow staccato. "I bet you were too _weak_ to offline him. Too weak to offline your _ridiculous _fascination."

Soundwave's visor flared at Starscream's words. "Negative," he droned. "Autobot medical care: not fully known."

"Slag!" Starscream shouted into Soundwave's face. Thundercracker's optics burned into his commander's helm. "You are _compromised_!" Starscream hissed, spitting through gritted denta.

Soundwave froze, suppressing all movements, all motor functions, all output to his body. _Force everything within._ "Mission: still within parameters of success."

"Success would have been the destruction of the Autobots!" Starscream shrieked. "Which we could have done if you weren't so pathetically weak!" Starscream sneered. He turned, stalking Soundwave in a tight circle, moving behind him, slowly. The steady, clipped pace of his heels was the only sound on the Command Deck.

"How does it feel," Starscream began again, his voice dripping with scorn. "How does it feel to be exploited? To be the one manipulated this time?" Starscream's optics flared. "Out of all the _weaknesses_ you could have had. Out of all the ways you could _fall_, and _fail._" Starscream's words slid against each other, slippery and malicious. "It had to be _this_ way." He pivoted, completing another circuit in his pacing. He faced Soundwave. "And I was there to find out." His lips curled up, predatory glean in his gaze.

Soundwave stared back, silent.

"I always knew," Starscream continued, his helm held high. "I always knew there was something wrong with you. How like a virus you are, sliding your way into the ranks. Pretending to be a real Decepticon. Living like a parasite off of our strength." His words were dark and scornful. "You are _nothing_. Your weakness disgusts me."

"No weakness," Soundwave finally intoned, his normally flat voice vibrating with dark, unshed emotion.

Starscream slid forward, closing the final few feet between their bodies as his helm tilted to the side, just so. "If there wasn't," he said softly, an entirely different sort of lilting mock to his voice. "Then the Autobot would be dead." Starscream let his words hang in the space between their bodies, his lips slowly curling upward into a feral, open smile. He pinned Soundwave back with his gaze, their optics burning into one another.

Still, Soundwave had nothing to say.

Chuckling once, Starscream stepped around Soundwave, shaking his helm. His plating barely skirted Soundwave's massive frame as he brushed by. Starscream called out for Thundercracker, barking his name out as he strode from the deck.

Thundercracker stared at Soundwave, letting his optics burn into Soundwave's plating before he moved away.

Soundwave was left alone on the Command Deck, the retreating echoes of the Seekers' heel turbines the only sounds at all. His optics fixed to a point on the far bulkhead, though he didn't see a thing. _Contain everything. Crush everything. Burn it all within my spark_.

His hands clenched to fists at his sides, nearly fracturing through the plating on his palm.

* * *

Jazz rolled his energon cube between his hands, scraping it over the Rec Room tabletop. His static bandage had been removed and new plating welded over his exposed internals, though he hadn't bothered to paint the new panel yet. A shock of bare metal lay exposed on his arm.

"Heya, Jazz," Wheeljack called out as he sat across the room. "Want to join us? Ratchet will be here in a second."

Jazz had been in the medbay for a week. In all that time, he kept far and away from the rest of the crew. No one had seen much of him, and when they did, it wasn't the Jazz they remembered. Rumors were flying, though the Command Staff tried to keep a tight lid on any gossip. Jazz's visor surged, staring at Wheeljack.

Not speaking, not saying one word, Jazz stood, moving carefully toward Wheeljack. He clutched his energon cube in his hands, and finally sat down directly opposite Wheeljack, his optics wide and pulsing behind his visor. His gaze dragged over every touch of paint, every angle and line of his face, and every pulse of Wheeljack's audial fins.

"Jazz?" Wheeljack frowned.

"How do you define reality?" Jazz asked suddenly.

"What?" Wheeljack boggled. Wheeljack knew bits and pieces of what had happened to Jazz, knew that Soundwave had assaulted his processor, shredding his partitions and seizing control of his systems. He knew that was how the Decepticons had nearly taken control of the _Ark_, and he knew that Ratchet had spent considerable hours pouring over and through Jazz's code, trying to put their friend back to rights. Jazz hadn't seemed quite normal ever since though. An air of sadness, of desperation, and the faintest tinges of paranoia shadowed his every movement. Wheeljack was beginning to understand why Jazz was keeping to himself. His friend wasn't entirely back, not yet. "Jazz," he began slowly.

"How many realities are there?" Jazz whispered. His breath was hot, and picking up speed.

_Ratchet should be here any moment_, Wheeljack thought. _Any moment. _"Reality is a tricky thing, Jazz," Wheeljack coughed. "The multiverse is full of alternate realities, possibilities different from our own-"

Jazz gasped, horror and shock spreading over his face. White lines fractured across his visor, crackling his input as he panted, his breaths too fast and shallow. His hands squeezed down over his cube, fingers nearly crushing the translucent surface.

"Jazz!" Wheeljack tried to reach for him, but Jazz pulled away. In a flurry of arms and legs, he stood, backing away as trembles settled over his entire body. "Jazz?"

Jazz fled. His vision swam, his audials rang, and the world was tilting precariously off balance. He couldn't get his hands to stop shaking, and each breath seemed to last an agonizing eternity. Primus, what was wrong with him? He fled, tearing out of the Rec Room and blowing out of the doors, slapping against the palm pad over and over until the doors opened barely enough for him to squeeze though. Wheeljack's voice rang in his helm, sounding far off and only fading further. The only thing he could see, the only thing we was aware of was the floor before him and the pounding of his feet as he tried to run.

"Whoa!" Ratchet's arm snaked out, blocking Jazz's escape. He bounced off of Ratchet, still heaving harsh breaths uncontrollably. Wild, frenzied optics stared at Ratchet behind his visor, pulsing white bright. "Jazz?" Ratchet's voice was laced with worried concern, gruff and questioning all at once.

Jazz tried to breathe, tried to calm his furious spark. _I'm here_, he thought. _I know where I am. I know where I am. _Thundercracker's voice rose unbidden within his processor: _We need to break the ties that bind you to your fantasy. Your fantasy is set up within your own mind, and sustained by your need for the fantasy to continue. We can break your need for the fantasy by eliminating your confidence in its necessity._

"I'm-" Jazz tried to choke out. He tried to reassure Ratchet that he was alright, but the words wouldn't come. Where was reality? What did he want? Was there another reality, somewhere, where he and Soundwave were happy together? Primus, he just wanted it all to make sense. What was real, what was fake? What was false, what was fact?

His processor kicked up an unhelpful thought. _If Soundwave were here, he'd help me fight this. He'd help me find the truth_. _No!_ He rebelled instantly at the thought, his processor at war with itself. Soundwave was the reason he was destroyed, damaged and questioning reality.

"Jazz?" Ratchet repeated, his hand squeezing his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I think I'm crazy, Ratchet," Jazz whispered, staring down at the deck. His hands just wouldn't stop trembling. "I really think I'm crazy."

Ratchet sighed. He squeezed down on Jazz's shoulder. "You're not crazy, Jazz," he said softly. "You're traumatized. But we're all here for you. You are _not_ alone." He was emphatic, stressing the words as if Jazz could lean all of himself against them and just let go.

Jazz chewed on his lower lip, inhaling and exhaling in ragged drags. His fists shook as he balled them at his sides. Ratchet cared so much for him, and had worked so hard to see him healed. There was so much care here, so much concern and a wellspring of support. But was it real? Could it be trusted?

Did he even want it, if it were?

"What if I want to be crazy?" Jazz whispered, finally meeting Ratchet's optics.

For a moment, Ratchet didn't know how to respond. This was not the Jazz he knew. "You are not alone, Jazz," Ratchet repeated, softer. "We will get through this. I promise."

Jazz swallowed and looked away.

Wheeljack padded through the Rec Room doors, his optics wide. Jazz shied away from his gaze. "Prime's just called a Command Staff meeting, Ratch. We've got to go."

Jazz shifted uncomfortably across his feet. "Should I come too?" he asked. He hadn't a clue where his position was within the command structure anymore. Was he an officer still? Or was he a liability, and a dangerous one at that?

Wheeljack and Ratchet shared a long, silent look. "No," Ratchet finally said, pitched low. "You probably shouldn't come, Jazz."

Jazz nodded stiffly, darting glances snaking out from his visor as the walls and the mechs and all of the screaming accusations and questioning glances and the horrible, terrible pressures closed in all around him. "'Scuse me," he mumbled. He darted down the corridor, disappearing as quickly as he could.

He didn't stop moving until he was back in his quarters, safely locked in the privacy of his own space. All of his being, everything that made up his life was in the four walls of his quarters, and yet, it all seemed so alien to him. Prints of landscapes he couldn't remember. Stacks of music he couldn't care about. Messy piles of data pads with reports that were meaningless parades of numbers and letters.

Jazz sank down, leaning back against his locked door before burying his helm in his arms. His trembles were finally slowing, finally stilling, and the tiniest bit of pressure seemed to ease around his spark. The silence, the stillness, the quietness of his own space, and the places where he was alone, utterly alone, where potentiality and possibility lay at right angles to one another, were the only places he felt safe anymore. If he was alone, then one moment may be different from the next, one reality swapping for the other. If he was alone, not everything was so cut and dried, and Cybertron could be online, and Soundwave could love him back, and if he offlined his optics and just _wished_ hard enough, maybe it all could be different.

Jazz pitched to his side, curling into a ball and lying on the deck. "Soundwave…" he whispered, pleading, mouthing the name more than speaking it.

Almost unheard, almost too faint to be noticed, Jazz's processor began to softly spin the notes to a familiar holo-fone duet.

* * *

"This meeting is classified," Prime growled. "Jazz especially cannot know. Not now."

The Command Staff nodded their assent, murmuring around Prime's office. Ratchet and Wheeljack shared a long look as Ironhide scuffed the edge of his foot against the deck. Prowl stared straight ahead, his gaze boring into the bulkhead. He wore a perpetual frown now, a soft scowl that knitted together his optic ridges and darkened his expression.

"What happened to Jazz is one of the most disturbing attacks we've ever faced," Prime continued. "How did this happen? Do we have any leads yet?"

All attention turned to Ratchet. "There's hardline processor damage, evidence of a hack. With his descriptions of what happened, and Mirage filing in the details, I think he was overcome during the ambush. Someone hacked into his systems and set up the physical conditions for what happened." Ratchet shook his helm and crossed his arms.

Prowl snorted. "I think we know who 'someone' is, Ratchet." Ratchet grumbled in response, but said nothing.

Prime ignored the comment. "Jazz hasn't been able to fill in any more details? Was he captured? Was this a simple or complex hack?"

"His partitions were scrambled, Prime, but I don't see any evidence of a base attack to his kernel or his operating system. It's just his programming that seems to have taken a hit." Ratchet frowned. "Soundwave was in deep enough, and all of Jazz's firewalls were bypassed. He could have easily terminated him."

Silence met Ratchet's words, and no one looked up from their sudden, intense stares at the deck, the bulkheads, the desktop, anywhere but at Ratchet or at each other.

"Are we sure he is safe? Has the hack been eliminated?" Prime finally rumbled.

Ratchet's engine revved slightly in response. "I'm still going through the data, Prime. Jazz… isn't much help at the moment, and I'm not going to press him for anything." He paused, looking away. "He doesn't even know up from down right now." Wheeljack's audial fins flashed and faded, slow.

Prowl's jaw clenched, his gears grinding hard against each other, and he felt the strain of his denta plates scraping against one another throughout his entire helm. What had happened to Jazz, had been horrible, terrible, tank-wrenchingly awful, and Prowl hadn't been able to relax a micron since. His nights were spent online, fitful recharge pushed at bay as he replayed over the dark scenarios Jazz had haltingly told him, terrible stories of Soundwave and Jazz together, living a mockery of a life in love. He wanted to tear apart the _Ark_, rip out all the pieces of Soundwave's processor that had touched their systems, banish every memory file, eliminate every sensor ghost from Jazz's processor. He wanted to remake each of Jazz's memories, each more beautiful than the last. He wanted to offline Soundwave until he was an empty, dead shell, then online him and do it all over again. And again. And again.

Prime was nodding, speaking with that low growl that had crept into his voice whenever he discussed Jazz. "We need to figure out how to guard against this kind of attack in the future. We need to know how this happened, and then adjust our defenses, both personal and Autobot-wide, to account for the details." Ratchet nodded, and Prowl's gaze slid across the deck, slowly fixing onto Prime's gaze. Their optics met and held.

"And then," Prowl began, his voice cold. "We must figure out how to eliminate the recurrent threat." His optics snapped to each of the Command Staff, meeting their gazes. "We must figure out how to eliminate Soundwave."

* * *

Soft tapping finally roused Jazz from his restless recharge on the deck. "Jazz?" the voice called through his closed door. "It's me." And then, as if Jazz couldn't possibly know who that meant, the voice added, "It's Prowl." His voice was soft, too soft, and the concern grated over Jazz's spark.

He wasn't worth Prowl's concern or his care, not anymore. He wasn't good enough for anything anymore, and the shame that he carried with him over his very existence spilled out into all the areas where his friends tried to help him, tried to care for him. He just wasn't _worth_ that much, wasn't worth their effort, and he couldn't figure out how to tell them all so that they could really see. They were just wasting their time, and Jazz had enough to feel guilty about. He didn't need to add that to his list, or to his life.

Still, Prowl refused to be cowed. He returned, again and again, refusing to let Jazz wallow out his misery alone. His strafing runs of dark, pressing concern were the chimes of Jazz's chronometer now, the beacon to which he floundered through the days.

Jazz rolled to his hands and knees, exhaling heavily, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Prowl's soft tapping started up again. He palmed open the door mid-tap, Prowl's finger still raised up into the air and preparing to gently strike at the door panel. Their gazes met, pained and questioning, too tired for words.

Jazz hated seeing Prowl's optics. They were dark tempests, turgid storms brewing behind his perpetual calm and safe expression. His optics held the windows to Prowl's spark and to his soul, and all Jazz could see were the bottomless depths of Prowl's pain. He'd let Prowl _down_, and no amount of time would ever fix that. He'd let down Prowl in every way he could, betrayed him, and despite how much Prowl wanted to help, Jazz just couldn't move past his own crushing feelings of failure.

Prowl leaned against the door frame. Light from the corridor spilled into the darkened interior of Jazz's cabin, rudely penetrating the safety of his abyss. Prowl swallowed heavily before he spoke. "How are you doing, Jazz?"

"Oh, you know," Jazz quipped, trying for his light-sparked ways and failing utterly. "Crazy." His hand rose, shaking as he rubbed over his face before dropping uselessly to his side.

Prowl's lips thinned, pressing in a harsh line. "You're not crazy," he whispered, straightening as he stood, his doorwings fluttering behind him. "Would you like to go outside? Go for a drive? Or a walk?"

Jazz's processor kept up the laughing, sing-song litany of failure, the rhyme he heard at all times around his friends, and especially around Prowl. _Ring a ring of circuits, we're together till the end_. Primus, Prowl had been his _best_ friend, all stubbornness and logic and teased out smiles, but he had _been_ there, and he had been Jazz's world. They had fought together, years and vorns stretching out behind them in unending waves. _The mechs trusted you_! His processor screamed. _And you gave that up!_

_Ring a ring of circuits, we're together till the end… Burning, burning, we all fall down. _

Jazz shook his helm, looking away. He backed clear of the angles of the light that fell into his cabin as skirting the brightness as if it would burn him. "You shouldn't keep coming here, Prowl," Jazz whispered. He had fallen, and no one could save him. Prowl wanted to, but Jazz knew he wasn't worth the effort. He knew it deeply, down in the core of his being.

"Jazz, I'm not leaving you-" Prowl began, his voice ragged.

"But I don't want you here!" Jazz spat. "You keep trying to save me! What if there's _nothing_ to save, Prowl?" Jazz's vents heaved, and his visor flashed. "What do you want me to say to you? 'Yes, let's go be normal? Let's go be not crazy?' You want this to magically be better, Prowl, and I don't even know how to _exist_ anymore!" He heaved. "Not without _him_!" Jazz's spark screamed, pounding in his chest as he glared at Prowl.

Prowl's optics flared. "You are so strong, Jazz," Prowl breathed. The tempest within his optics surged. "I know you overcome this, fight back against what he did-"

"What if I don't want to?" Jazz hissed. "What if I don't _want_ to be better? Or _want_ your care?" His voice was bitter and mocking. "Any of your _feelings_?"

"I know you, Jazz. This isn't you-"

"You know _nothing_!" Jazz shrieked, his fist flying through the air. He slammed his fist into the bulkhead, bellowing.

Silence settled throughout the cabin, stretching and curling between them. Prowl stared at the fresh dent in the bulkhead, his mouth pressed thin as he dragged his breath through his nose and vents.

Jazz seethed, the emotions crawling through his lines too intense to be named. "Get out," Jazz whispered. "Get out now."

Prowl backed slowly from the room. The doors slid shut in his face, cutting off all the spilling light from the corridor and plunging Jazz back into the depths of his isolation. The pressure hold on his spark evaporated, every sensation, every emotion, every hard-pressed drive abandoning him in an instant as he fell to his knees.

* * *

Soundwave was plugged into the _Nemesis_, sorting through and cataloguing the transmissions within their hack of the human networks and trying to determine which were tactically relevant when Thundercracker appeared at his elbow. The Seeker's light footfalls had completely escaped Soundwave's notice. His concentration was half locked on his task, and half wandering in the murky depths of his memories.

"I know what I saw," Thundercracker said softly, his deep voice rumbling. His optics pierced into Soundwave. "I _know_ what I saw," he repeated.

Soundwave slowly, staring at Thundercracker as if he were something noxious, scrapped from the hull of their starship. "Opinions: undesired," he droned, turning back to his terminal.

Thundercracker placed his hand over Soundwave's terminal screen, blocking the display. "I said, I _know_ what I saw," he hissed. "I know what happened between you and the Autobot!"

"Thundercracker: mistaken," Soundwave droned, not acknowledging the blue Seeker. "Thundercracker believes Starscream: in error."

"I didn't talk to Starscream about it!" Thundercracker hissed again, leaning close. "I didn't _tell_ him anything."

Slowly, Soundwave's helm tilted, twisting just slightly. His gaze burned through his visor. "State your reasons."

"I have my reasons." Thundercracker leaned into the bulkhead, pressing as close as he could get to Soundwave. "Starscream likes to gloat that he's found your 'weakness,' that he's found out that you're fascinated with that Autobot. All he has right now is that weird admiration you have for him, and that can be explained away as a product of the war. He's a good enemy, to be sure." Thundercracker paused, his gaze sweeping the deck before he spoke again. "But Starscream can be deadly when he finds a real weakness. He'll never stop exploiting it. He'll _never_ stop."

Soundwave's visor pulsed, darkening with each of Thundercracker's words. His expression hardened, and he turned away toward the end. He flattened his hands on the terminal keyboard. His hands were trembling, begging for violence. "There is no weakness," he spat.

"I know what I saw," Thundercracker repeated slowly, enunciating each point. "When Screamer told me what was going on, what he had manipulated you into doing, I thought that it would be brutal. That you would concoct some kind of psychological torture." Soundwave had asked Thundercracker, one of the more intelligent of the Decepticons and blessed with a quicker processor than most, to join in on the hack. Soundwave had crafted the hack on his own, creating a scenario designed to break Jazz entirely. He'd asked him to join in and play the role of the convincer, twisting Jazz's processor around until they had their intelligence. Thundercracker had thought the hack would have been much, much different than it turned out to be. "Why'd you make it like that?" Thundercracker frowned, glaring at Soundwave.

Soundwave stared back. "Reasons: my own," he finally intoned, his voice pitched low.

Thundercracker looked away as he chewed on his lower lip. His shoulder dug into the bulkhead, and after a moment, Soundwave turned away.

"I guess you won't care then," Thundercracker began. "If I tell everyone." His helm turned, staring at Soundwave. "If I tell everyone what you did in there. What you made. That world you created for the two of you."

Soundwave froze, his hands freezing over the terminal. Slowly, he turned to Thundercracker. He stood, glaring at the Seeker. "Such discussions: irrelevant," Soundwave growled, his engine rumbling deep beneath his words.

"So you do care." Thundercracker refused to back down.

"Irrelevant," Soundwave snapped. His visor flashed as his hands clenched into fists. What had he done? What had he revealed? Fury filled him, fueled him, and he worked to cover this raw weakness of his, scrapping as much of the flotsam and jetsam of his soul over this darkness to cover it from view.

"It is _relevant_!" Thundercracker hissed. "Either you have a spark or not! You did that for a reason, or you did it to really break him! I _saw_ you in there, Soundwave!" Thundercracker paused, catching himself as his voice rose. "You built an irresistible world for him. You were everything to him, and he fell in _love_ with you. Why?" Thundercracker shook his helm. "And _you?_ You're a monster, or you're-" Thundercracker stopped abruptly. "It is _relevant_," he hissed, leaning close.

A beat of silence, as Soundwave stared at the Seeker. "Line of questioning: state your reasons." His voice was different, suspicious, guarded, near frantic, the closest to emotional he'd ever been.

"You weren't the only one affected by what you made," Thundercracker whispered. He looked away, staring across the Command Deck. "Home. Seemed so real." he shook his helm.

Soundwave's vents hitched, and he swallowed hard. He regarded Thundercracker warily for a long moment before settling back down into his seat at the terminal. His hands reached for the input, trying to resume his work. To his dismay, trembles fell from his fingers, and he squeezed his hands into shaking fists, nearly denting his plating.

Thundercracker watched it all. "So you do care." Thundercracker refused to give up. "And you don't want me to say anything to Starscream. Or to Megatron."

Soundwave swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling. "Disclosure: not preferable," he choked out, the words bitterly drawn from deep within.

"Was that so hard?" Thundercracker frowned down at the Communications Officer, pushing himself off the bulkhead. "Was that so terrible for you to admit?"

Soundwave twisted, staring at Thundercracker. "Perceived weaknesses: leverage to be used. Thundercracker: no history of trust."

Thundercracker frowned. There wasn't any history between him and Soundwave, not of trust, or of indifference, or of camaraderie. Nothing at all. He leaned close. "I won't say a word," he whispered. Thundercracker leaned back, holding Soundwave's optics for a long moment before he turned and left.

Soundwave watched him go, his optics tracing over the back of Thundercracker's wings. Rushes flowed through him, coursing and burning his lines, and he wasn't sure if he was feeling rage and hate or gratitude and shame. He felt too exposed, flayed open, his spark ravaged and damaged and sparking for all to see. Nothing had been right, not since that day that Starscream's gloating, superior optics had bored into his own, his vocalizer dripping with scorn as he relayed all that he _knew_ about Soundwave. His near-obsessive monitoring of the Autobot, the terabytes he'd compiled. Soundwave had been penned in, fenced in, and he'd maneuvered as best he could to escape.

Escape had only led him further down the road of damnation, and he was ensnared now, caught, enthralled with his own folly, stuck with his own demons, and he only had himself to blame. Memories of Jazz flashed through his processor; Jazz raging through battle, his easy tactics, his effortless moves, all merging and flowing into the memories of him cast in moonlight, caressed by the sunrise, and resting in his arms. The warmth of his touch. The complete and all-consuming surprise that had been Jazz himself, so _different_ from everything he had never dared to dream.

Rage clawed out of Soundwave's spark, screaming through his lines and lancing him to his core. He knew, in a sacred, primal way, just what temptation truly was, and the power it held sway over his spark and mind.

* * *

Prowl almost didn't look up when his office chime sounded. He'd fallen behind while struggling to come to terms with what had happened to Jazz, and in between his lengthy discussions with Prime on their new threat, his follow-up talks with Ratchet, and checking in with Jazz over the course of the day, much had fallen through the cracks. He had to get the duty schedules finalized for the squad leaders that afternoon, though, and he was plowing through with steely determination, purposely not focusing on Jazz.

His office door wasn't locked, and when the chime sounded for the second time, the doors slid open to admit his visitor. Prowl didn't even bother looking up, instead merely arched his optics ridges in the direction of the door.

"Busy?" Sideswipe asked, poking his head in the door, his optics bright and curious.

Prowl slowly rolled his helm, sending a droll look at his unwelcome visitor.

Sideswipe smiled as he stepped in. No one could look so put upon, put out, and frustrated all at once as Prowl could. "Need any help?" he asked, smiling as he collapsed into the chair opposite Prowl's desk, arms and legs falling haphazardly over the chair's low back and sides. Prowl kept his steely gaze locked on Sideswipe, though his optics fixed to the throw of Sideswipe's leg over the chair.

Sideswipe could see Prowl's optics following the lazy swing of his foot, back and forth, for just a moment.

Prowl's gaze shifted back to Sideswipe. "What are you doing here?"

"Seriously?" Sideswipe asked, tilting his helm.

"No," Prowl shook his helm. "Lie to me."

Sideswipe grinned. He wondered if Prowl enjoyed these interplays as much as he did. Huffing, his arms falling limp from the chair arms, he answered Prowl with as much whine as he could muster. "I'm _bored_."

Prowl's optic ridges rose, climbing in incremental stages until they threatened to pop off the top of his helm. "You are bored?" he repeated.

Sideswipe nodded, up and down, the movements exaggerated. He forced his face to seriousness as he held Prowl's incredulous stare.

"And this is my problem because…" Prowl's voice trailed off as he turned his full attention to Sideswipe, setting down his pad. A small twinkle formed in the corner of his optic.

Sideswipe held his hands out to Prowl, offering his wisdom to his SIC. "Well, eventually, it _does_ become your problem. You see, I get bored, and then I get creative, and you have never liked when I get creative." Sideswipe's optics sparkled.

"That's not true," Prowl corrected, folding his hands before him on his desk as his doorwings hitched. "I enjoyed your reenactments and impersonations of the Decepticons."

Wilting, Sideswipe sighed, though his good humor remained. "That was because we lost a bet!"

"Part of the reason why I enjoyed it," Prowl said, leaning forward. His optics were shining, and Sideswipe knew, he just knew, that Prowl was right on the verge of a smile.

"We're working on the Autobots now!" Sideswipe said, sitting up quickly. "Want me to try you?"

"No, thank you." Prowl shut down, turning back to his work and his data pad. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with your boredom, Sideswipe, unless you desire to do physical labor." His optic ridge arched in question, but he didn't look up from his reading.

Sideswipe pulled a face, slumping back in his chair. "Well, what are you working on?"

Prowl's helm snapped up. "Your death warrant," he said smoothly. "Ratchet requested more support for experimental medicine. I figured the mystery of your continued existence despite your non-existent processor would satisfy his curiosity."

Though the jibe stung Sideswipe deep within, he didn't show it. Shrugging nonchalantly, his customary, lopsided grin plastered over his face, he replied with all of his charm, "Well, as long as it's nothing important."

Finally Prowl broke, smiling as he exhaled explosively, an almost-chuckle falling from his lips. He looked down, data pad forgotten, shaking his helm. When he finally looked back up, he was still smiling, as he shook his helm back and forth, staring at Sideswipe with more good humor than Sideswipe had seen in a long while. Sideswipe beamed back at him, his leg jiggling over the chair arm for good measure. Someone had to make Prowl smile these days, and Primus be damned, but Sideswipe had signed up for the job.

"Does it hurt when you do that?" Sideswipe teased softly, a sing-song lilt to his vocalizer.

Prowl snorted, soft laughter falling from his lips as he picked up his data pad. "It 'hurts' when I puzzle over the enigma that is you."

Sideswipe frowned at that, his lips pursing outward. Prowl turned back to his work, and silence fell over the office.

Prowl hoped Sideswipe would get his not unsubtle hint to leave him in peace.

"So you don't have anything for me then?" Sideswipe would not be pushed away.

Prowl sighed heavily, setting his data pad down again with a sharp, resounding click. "I can't entertain you, Sideswipe. I have work to do, quite a bit, in fact. If you'll excuse me-"

"Well, can I help? I'm sure I can help you with some of it." Sideswipe leaned forward, his plucky teasing wiped from his face.

Prowl stared. "There are long, complicated words strung together in long, complicated sentences over multiple bits of data. There are also a great deal of charts and graphs. I doubt you could stay focused long enough to 'help.'"

"That's not fair," Sideswipe said softly. "I can read you know."

Prowl stared at Sideswipe pleadingly. "Sideswipe, I have a great deal of work to do, and I am already behind. Please. Let me work in peace?"

Finally sensing he had outlived his brief usefulness, Sideswipe stood, pulling himself back to order. He didn't meet Prowl's gaze until he was up, and he slowly nodded with a small smile. "Sorry, Prowl," he said. "I'll try not to add too much to your workload."

Prowl nodded. "I'd appreciate that," he said softly.

Sideswipe smiled in response, his optics holding Prowl's for almost too long. He moved off, padding to the door. Pausing Sideswipe turned around. "I'll come back and bother you later," he called out, a friendly smirk on his face.

Prowl watched him, following the span of his broad shoulders across his office. He returned Sideswipe's smile with a faint one of his own, inclining his helm. "I am sure you will."

Sideswipe grinned and slapped at the palm pad. He was looking down, staring at the decking and biting his lip as the doors slid open, and he wasn't prepared two black and grey pedes to appear on the other side of the door. Sideswipe jerked, shock startling him back a step, and looked straight into the reclusive, recalcitrant face of Jazz.

Jazz froze and stared at Sideswipe, his optics wide beneath his dim visor, his face contorted as if it pained him to be seen.

"Jazz!" Sideswipe gasped. He glanced back as he heard a crash behind him, and then Prowl was striding across his office, all thoughts of work forgotten, his piles of data pads overturned in his haste to stand.

Sideswipe's turned back to Jazz. "What's up?" He, like everyone, had heard the rumors, but no one had seen Jazz at all. All Sideswipe had to go on was the increasingly variable and tempestuous temperament of Prowl.

Jazz stared at Sideswipe too long, not speaking.

Suddenly, Prowl was at Sideswipe's elbow, pressing too close, pushing him from his office. "Sideswipe," Prowl said stiffly, nodding to the red twin with barely a glance. Within the astrosecond, his attention was refocused solely on Jazz.

Sideswipe glanced between the two silent officers, his optics wide, and slipped out.

* * *

Prowl reached out, pulling Jazz inside his office, his fingers grazing over Jazz's forearm and the new, unpainted stretch of metal. "Jazz," he said, breathing out his friend's name. The office door hissed shut behind Jazz. "Are you alright?" Prowl's hands fluttered down to his side as his doorwings shifted, nervous tension leaching through his plating.

Jazz, who had been glancing around the office as if he'd never seen the place before, turned to Prowl, his optics storming behind his visor. Jazz's face twisted, turning ugly. "Frag you, Prowl."

Prowl stepped back, and his doorwings arched high. "You're as friendly as ever," he said staring back at Jazz.

Jazz shuddered, shame rolling throughout his being, merging and melding with his unquenchable, unending rage. Bitterness followed, ice cold and freezing his spark, freezing all feeling within. He needed to destroy and to devastate. All that he had was _gone_, and he could never, ever get it back. Prowl's gaze was hot on his body, slowly boiling his energon. Humiliation raced in his lines, smoldering just beneath the surface. How used he was. How utterly used he was, and wasted.

"You just need to _frag off_, Prowl," Jazz began, growling out his words through clenched denta. "You just need to frag off to the _Pit_ and leave me the slag _alone_." Jazz's optics burned through his visor, piercing into Prowl's.

"Jazz, I am only trying to help you-"

"I don't want your help!" Jazz bellowed. "I don't want your help, and I don't want you to save me! I'm not worth your _time_, or your effort, or even the energon I'm forced to drink every day! I'm not fragging worth it!" He was shaking, shaking with the force of his shouts as he bellowed in Prowl's face. "You're _wasting_ yourself on me," he hissed darkly.

A long moment of silence stretched out between the two. Prowl turned away, moving slowly back to his desk, back to his safe space. "I do not consider you a waste of time," Prowl finally said, as he rounded his desk and stood with his hands pressed flat on the surface, staring at Jazz.

"Frag off," Jazz hissed.

"Jazz, I am _sorry_ for what's happened," Prowl tried to begin, lowering his helm as he spoke.

Jazz cut him off again, and Prowl's helm snapped up as Jazz launched into a new tirade, bitter and tempestuous and dark. "Just _shut up_, Prowl!" Jazz snapped. "Sorry never fixed _anything_! Sorry never brought back what you wanted!" Jazz heaved, his voice increasing in volume as he worked himself up. "Sorry won't bring back Soundwave!"

Finally, deep within, the first curl of anger unfolded out of Prowl's spark. His optics narrowed, slitting dangerously. "You're _hurting_, Jazz, and I am trying to reach you," he breathed out. "I am trying to help you through this-"

"I didn't_ ask_ you to!" Jazz hollered. "I never asked you to help me! _Frag you_, Prowl, go waste yourself on someone else! I don't want your rescue, and I don't need your sorry's, _and I don't want you_!" Jazz's engine screamed wildly, and his optics fell to the small crystal garden on Prowl's desk. Prowl had painstakingly worked to revive the shattered shards after their crash, teasing out the delicate spires in a handmade electroshell bed.

"And what is it that you want, Jazz?" Prowl asked, his voice dropping down, chilling to ice, his spark freezing.

Jazz heaved deep drags of air in and out of his vents. "You know what I want," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Prowl pushed back from the desk, folding his arms, his expression entirely closed. Only his optics burned, raging with a spark-deep pain.

"You know what I want." Jazz paused. "Whatever you think you know about me, Prowl, I suggest you _forget,"_ Jazz hissed, striding forward. "Delete all your memories. Throw out all the past." Jazz's words slipped past his lips quickly, bitter and hateful. "Everyone here thinks I am _crazy_. I _know_ you think so too."

This time, Prowl interrupted. "Don't tempt me to address the state of your mind," he spat back.

Jazz continued unfazed. "Every whisper you've heard, every grumpy report from Ratchet, every piece of gossip, every hushed conversation in the Rec Room, everything you've heard and that you're _ignoring_ is _true_." Jazz paused, and time seemed to slow to a standstill, the seconds stretching on for an eternity as Jazz looked down, his optics seizing upon the tiny crystal garden. He breathed in - one second - staring over the spires and the tiny growths. He breathed out - one second - remembering the bulb of a fresh spire, carefully broken off and cleaned for him, the dust of the stars blown away by a too-gentle pair of lips before sprouting new life, new love, from the starburst of potentiality. He breathed in - one second - his hands clenching into fists.

Prowl's crystal garden, hand tended and slowly, carefully teased into existence over the years since their awakening on Earth, flew through the air, smashing into the far bulkhead. Crystals shattered, tinkling to the floor in shards of fractured memories, and their tiny impacts haunted Jazz's processor with familiar musical notes.

Prowl stared, turning his helm to watch over the impact and the destruction for too long a time. He didn't move, barely breathed, all cold angles and closed off entirely. The office was deathly quiet, vibrations of despair, accusations, and desperate pleas staining the air.

Jazz inhaled, staring at his destruction, wanting to take it all back, wanting to do it all over again. He wanted to tear the world into pieces, destroy everything he touched.

"Jazz," Prowl began, his tone oddly different, choked and filled with something Jazz didn't want to face. Prowl's helm turned back to Jazz, his optics filled with the one emotion Jazz couldn't face, not anymore.

He turned and fled. Prowl's voice, shouting his name, followed him into the corridor before he dropped down into his alt mode and throttled hard, screaming from the _Ark_ as fast as he'd ever done before.

He drove for miles, redlining his engine and screaming through the desert. He drove without pattern, without rhythm, and without destination. He drove for the sensation, and he screamed out his spark, trying to outdrive his soul.

Distantly, far overhead, Jazz noticed a shape, a flying smudge of darkness, far off and nearly out of sight. His sensors stretched out, teasing along the flight path, and the smudge changed course, disappearing. Jazz moved with it, suddenly veering off and diving into the forest highways at the edge of the desert abutting their perimeter territory. Dirt flew, branches and sticks jabbing his undercarriage as he drove on, never losing his target.

Laserbeak pinged back to Soundwave, frantic. "Observation spotted. Unable to shake Autobot. Incoming."

Soundwave, tucked out of sight at the very edge of the Autobot's perimeter and hidden in a copse of trees, froze. _Jazz…_

Twin emotions of despair and futile, horrible, terrible hope raged within him, erupting from his spark. He should _never_ have listened to Thundercracker. He didn't need to get out, he didn't need to clear his processor, he didn't need to stretch his joints. That had led him down the trail of regret and fantasy, and temptation had reared, ugly and beautiful at once, teasing his spark. He had only wanted to _look_…

Above, frantic squawking sounded, electric and fearful as laser shots broke the silence of the forest. Organic birds scattered, twittering away from the upper limbs of the branches as Laserbeak screamed down to Soundwave, careening into an unsteady landing, safe with his creator once more.

Behind Laserbeak, engine noise echoed through the woods, growling with the strain of offroading as street tires chewed through loose dirt and rocks bounced off of plating with hard clangs.

Soundwave had one moment, one moment to think about fleeing before Jazz screamed around the bend and transformed in a furious flail of arms and legs, pushing into the grove and the thicket of trees and brambles opposite Soundwave, his laser rifle primed and aimed to fire.

Soundwave gasped, his visor pulsing as he froze, staring back at Jazz. His traitorous optics traveled over the entirety of Jazz's body, up and down, before lingering on his perfect, shocked face.

Jazz stared, horrified, his yearning and nightmares made real before him too-suddenly. He had a moment of shock, of crazed, wondrous fantasy, hoping that the world had changed on him once more before rage seized control of his spark.

He growled, dragging his pulse rifle up to fire, and he bore down on Soundwave, backing him against the redwood. "How _dare_ you," Jazz seethed, his finger twitching over the trigger.

* * *

_Soundwave Musical Accompaniment: "Creep" by Radiohead_

_Thanks for reading! _


	7. Chapter 7

**Fracture Mechanics Seven**

* * *

"How _dare_ you," Jazz seethed, his finger twitching over his rifle's trigger. "How dare you!" he shouted, bellowing at the top of his vocalizer. He pushed forward, bearing down on Soundwave, standing immobile against the damp redwood trunk and staring with too-bright optics back at Jazz.

Jazz froze, stopping six feet from Soundwave, his pulse rifle trembling as he physically restrained himself from firing. "What did you do to me?" Jazz hissed beneath his breath.

Soundwave didn't move. He had never thought he'd ever see Jazz again, not in this lifetime, not like this. His world, _their_ world, was supposed to remain safe within his processor and within his spark. He hadn't a clue what to do, not at all, and the pure rage bursting from Jazz's gaze threatened to overwhelm the tatters of his frayed emotional control.

"What did you do to me?" Jazz bellowed again, the barrel of his pulse rifle trembling as he inched closer to Soundwave.

"Jazz," Soundwave finally breathed, shying away from Jazz's rage. "Intentions: good."

"Good?" Jazz hissed. "How can you even-"

"Purpose: information gathering. Intelligence. Reconnaissance." The redwood bark scratched against his armor as he pressed back against the trunk.

Jazz's face twisted, rage and bitterness seizing control. Soundwave's interrogation had been the most brutal he'd ever encountered. His beacons, his landmarks, his signposts for reality and for understanding were torn away, ripped apart, and he had been left floating in a sea of confused wonder. His only recourse had been to trust, and then, to fall in love. How _deeply_ he'd loved. "That was no interrogation," he breathed. "You _ruined_ me!" Jazz shouted.

Soundwave's spark guttered as all movements froze within. He tried to clamp down, but he'd lost his control somewhere between the anguish pouring from Jazz's optics and the memory of Jazz's lips against his. He stared back at Jazz, the silence stretching thin. Despair tore between their gazes, insidious.

Finally, Jazz pushed forward, caustic tensions boiling within his spark. The barrel of his pulse rifle pressed into Soundwave's neck, hard. Soundwave's vents choked, and his blast mask retracted as he gasped, breathless and faint. His lips moved soundlessly, working over fractured words.

Their optics never left one another's.

"Why," Jazz whispered, digging his pulse rifle in, hard, "did you do it?"

Soundwave's lips continued to quiver, as if searching for the words he couldn't speak, couldn't think. A jerking gasp, and then he spoke, his voice too deep. "Attempted to make interrogation agreeable." His words were choked and bitten off, forced through his clenching vocalizer. Slowly, Soundwave's helm shook, back and forth. "Interrogation: Starscream's idea."

"Starscream wanted you to seduce me? To make me fall-" Jazz's voice shorted out. "I cannot believe that," he seethed.

"Starscream: set up the telepathic link. Created the amplification to remain embedded within your processor." Soundwave's lips pressed together. "Interrogation: his idea."

"But you did everything else!" Jazz hissed, his gaze fracturing across his visor. "Why?" he cried out. "Why did you do it?"

"Attempted to make interrogation agreeable for you," Soundwave whispered.

Jazz cut him off, growling. He dug his rifle into Soundwave's neck again. "Why?"

The words wouldn't come, and Soundwave's lips moved soundlessly as he struggled to bring names and words to the feeling tumbling within him. It all raging now, pouring freely from his spark as the shattered remnants of his control withered away. He hated this feeling, and he hated the cavern within his soul that had steadily been carved out by everything that was Jazz, everything that the other mech was and represented. It stung, the depth of that emptiness, and here Jazz was, demanding answers to something Soundwave didn't know and couldn't name.

"Jazz: is cared for," he finally whispered, trembling around the words.

Jazz reacted instantly, his face twisting with resentment and fury that rocked back to his spark. "How can you claim that," he spat, twisting his rifle. "Everything you did was a lie!"

Soundwave swallowed against the rifle's bore. The redwood bark scratched against his plating as he tried to disappear. "Attempted to do what was possible," he whispered. "Attempted to repair disastrous situation."

"Disastrous situation?"

Soundwave hesitated, just briefly. "Sole motivation for Starscream's target of you: " Soundwave's optics flicked uncertainly to Jazz's. "My weakness," he whispered, the words falling from his lips with anguished, self-castigating finality.

Confusion flickered across Jazz's face. His tense hold on the stock of his pulse rifle slackened fractionally.

Soundwave pressed forward, leaning into Jazz's rifle. His optics burned, his breath coming fast and harsh. "Jazz: my _weakness_," Soundwave whispered, begging to be understood. Jazz had been his enemy, his combatant, an often-encountered adversary over the long years of their war. Somewhere along the line, their battles and their spy games had twisted into a challenge of wills, a game of sorts. From that had bred admiration, an honest recognition of a kindred levels of talent and technique. Somewhere along the line, between Cybertron and Earth, between warring battles and subterfuge, between life and politics and factions and everything else, Soundwave had gone and fallen for Jazz.

He'd fallen for the Jazz within his helm, though, for the Jazz that existed within his processor and on his surveillance screens. The Jazz that existed in the footage Laserbeak transmitted back, in the glimpses across the battlefield during their engagements, in the gleam of light that struck along his plating, or refracted off his alt mode. Soundwave had spent hours contemplating how the touch of his armor would feel, and equally countless hours knowing that he'd _never_ get the chance.

Starscream had changed all that, and in Soundwave's one careless slip, Starscream had struck, brutally exposing his darkest, deepest, fondest weakness. Suddenly Jazz, that whom he cherished within the silence and darkness of his spark and processor, was threatened and exposed. He'd done all he could, trying to save Jazz from the worst of Starscream's vicious, slippery wrath. It was entirely his fault that Jazz had been targeted by Starscream, and he'd tried to remedy that every moment thereafter.

Jazz frowned, staring into Soundwave's impassioned gaze. His breath froze, caught on his gears as he tried to process Soundwave's words. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible. Decepticons _couldn't_ feel anything, and especially couldn't feel anything for Autobots. They _couldn't._ No world existed where that was possible.

_Except…_ Jazz's traitorous processor recalled every moment spent with Soundwave, every minute wrapped up in his arms, every tender moment of love.

How was that possible? How could he reconcile the two worlds, the world of Soundwave in their link, where he was loving and caring and tender, and the world of their war, locked in raging battles and bitter feuds? Each was crashing into the other, and now Soundwave was staring at him, his optics burning, his voice pleading to be understood, and Jazz couldn't tear his gaze from Soundwave's lips. The blast mask had hidden the emotions that freely traveled across his face, playing out in halting words warring over his lips and nervous breaths.

What did he know? What did he truly know at all?

Jazz and Soundwave's gazes locked together, optics burning, breaths ragged and harsh from torn, pained vocalizers.

"How can you expect me to believe that?" Jazz hissed, pushing forward against Soundwave with renewed vigor, pressing him back against the tree trunk and digging his rifle into his plating. He twisted, pressing the bore down, pushing up against Soundwave's chin. "You got your intel already! What is the point of continuing with this?"

"Truth!" Soundwave cringed, trying to twist away.

Jazz kicked, snarling, swiping at Soundwave's knee. Soundwave tumbled, knocked off balance, and he braced his fall with his hands, scrambling in the dirt as Jazz dug the rifle into Soundwave's cheek. "I'm through with these lies," Jazz hissed. "I am through with _you_."

Soundwave swallowed and met Jazz's optics. A resigned sort of finality settled within. His lips moved, as if searching for words, but he finally settled on staring into Jazz's optics soundlessly. Release was at hand, and while Soundwave had never before welcomed the thought of termination or death, for the moment, it brought a crystalline clarity of completion that bathed his spark in a rare moment of peace. He'd brought tumultuous pain to Jazz, the one mech he'd ever perhaps cared for, and Jazz's wrath and rage were all directed back toward him now. His fantasies, his wonderings, the musings his processor had indulged in at length couldn't stand up to the realities of Jazz, the mech before him in all his wondrous, alive glory.

_Love_ was an emotion he'd _never_ thought to experience, not in his life. Not where he'd come from. It was ridiculous even, the notion of love within his life. The darkness within, the past they had all fought out of together as Decepticons, and the reality they had carved out of forged steel and bitter battles had not been a place of tenderness and fond regard. Love was absent from their entire world, Decepticon and Autobot alike, for years. There had been no love lost between either side, no care or regard for that which had unfolded. How he'd managed to ensnare himself within the tangles of love's tortured grasp, he'd never know. He'd done what he could, offered what he could, and in the end, it had all amounted to naught. His entire life had been one of burning for freedom, yearning for it, striving for freedom with every fiber of his being, and he'd ended up trapped by his very own spark. The irony of it floored him, every time.

Jazz could release him from all of that, though.

"Stand up!" Jazz barked, his finger trembling over the trigger.

Slowly, Soundwave shuffled to his feet. He faced Jazz, his optics clear for the first time.

Jazz's breathing was ragged, raging through his vents, and he stared Soundwave down. A long, silent moment stretched out between them, a battlefield of emotion playing between their optics.

Snarling, Jazz lunged, grasping Soundwave behind the neck and dragging him close. Soundwave stumbled, thrown off guard, but then their plating was grinding against one another, rubbing together in overheated zones of contact and friction. Jazz dropped his rifle to his side as pulled Soundwave down, dragging their helms together. Their noses rubbed, gently stroking, lips and breaths sharing a hesitant gasp. Finally, _finally_, their shaking lips met in a quivering, terrified kiss.

Soundwave moaned, his spark surging as he circled Jazz in a fierce hold.

Jazz moaned as well, folding into the kiss, bending backward as Soundwave pulled him close. His hand holding his rifle slackened, and he nearly dropped the weapon to the ground as his entire world collapsed to the feeling of their kiss, the way their bodies pressed together and aligned, and the suddenly striking feeling of absolute rightness that tore through Jazz's spark. _This_ was what he had yearned for, longed for, wept for, prayed for, gone crazy in the dead of the night for. This feeling, this kiss, this all-encompassing, powerful, rush of emotion, given to him by this mech, by _Soundwave_. Jazz moaned aloud, dragging his hand from behind Soundwave's neck to stroke over his audial and down his face, cupping his cheek in a tender hold.

Soundwave gasped beneath his touch.

It was all so, so much different in reality.

From overhead, the sound of jet turbines screamed through their forest clearing, echoing in the copse of trees. Jazz broke the kiss with a gasp, pushing Soundwave back. He hefted his rifle, dropping into his fighting stance and peered upwards, trying to see through the thick branches of the forest redwoods.

"What is this?" Jazz hissed. "You're trying to capture me again?" The Seeker turbines screamed again, coming around for a second pass as the jet lowered in altitude. Jazz shot a murderous glare toward Soundwave.

"Negative!" Soundwave breathed, glancing skyward. "Your presence: unknown!" Thundercracker was returning to recover him after his hour of flying, returning to take him back to the _Nemesis_. He couldn't possibly have had worse timing.

"Go," Soundwave whispered. "Go! Your presence: unknown!"

Jazz stared at Soundwave, frowning in disparate waves of confusion, anger, and incomprehension. He had too many questions and not nearly enough answers. The Seeker's turbines were screaming closer, coming in for a high-pitched landing just outside their clearing, and Jazz had only seconds to act. His lips tingled from the feel of Soundwave's kiss, and his body was filled with rushes and waves of roiling energy, the effects of Soundwave's body pressed to his own and his spark's call for its desire. There was too little time, always too little time, and once again, his time with Soundwave was being ripped away from him.

Then again, he never should have _any_ time with Soundwave. The very notion was preposterous.

Thundercracker finally cut his engines, transforming to land in a graceful step down out of the air. The sudden cessation of screaming turbines shattered the hesitancy within Jazz, and he tore from the clearing and from Soundwave, backing away until he was safely behind the tree cover before turning to run. He pounded as fast as he could, tearing away from Soundwave. How stupid he was, remaining in that trap, stuck there by the force of a single kiss as the Seeker landed, perhaps to snatch him back for more interrogation. Jazz berated himself with every step, screaming as he huffed back to the Autobot lines where he transformed and dropped into his alt mode, tearing across the desert.

Soundwave watched him race away. One hand twitched, as if wanting to stretch out after Jazz's fleeing body, but his actions were stilled by the sinking of his spark. Despair followed in its wake, and all he was left with was the echo of Jazz's engine and the approaching footfalls of Thundercracker.

"What happened?" Thundercracker asked, his optics peering at Soundwave's profile. The larger mech's blast mask was retracted, his lips pressed into a harsh line, and he stared off into the forest as if his very spark had run out of his chest. "Was someone here?"

Slowly spinning around, Soundwave's blast mask snapped shut, his regular mask of indifference and stoic commitment back in place. Still, Thundercracker could see the cracks around the edges: the pinched look to Soundwave's faceplates, the overly bright sheen to his visor. The way his hands only barely hid their trembling.

"Negative," Soundwave droned. "You detected nothing." Soundwave stormed past Thundercracker out of the clearing, waiting for the Seeker to ferry them both back to the _Nemesis_.

* * *

Jazz drove as fast as he could, redlining his engine for far too many miles as the dirt crunched beneath his tires and sand flew up in unsteady arcs and sprays behind his fishtailing swerves. The pain was all encompassing, all consuming, screaming from his spark in never-ending stabs of horror. Everything that he had thought he had known was once again thrown out as false, as a thing of fantasy, as a rendering of his mind and bearing no allegiance to reality. The universe was resettling in an alien and unfamiliar pattern, spinning at a new angle upon its axis, and Jazz was left behind, trying futilely to catch up.

How could he be so utterly horrified by a mech and yet want him, _need_ him, at the same time? Jazz burned throughout his body, the feel of Soundwave raging throughout him, his lips stinging from the brief passes of their lips against the other, his back singed by the touch of his hands pulling him closer. Everything within him screamed to turn back around, to tear back to Soundwave's side, to throw himself at the mech and never, ever leave. And yet still he ran, racing away from Soundwave as hard and as fast as he could go. The monster of his nightmares, the phantasm of his creations, the creature who had preyed upon his emotions and played ragged over his spark hung like a scream within, peering out into all the corners of Jazz's soul. That was the Soundwave he had known. That was the Soundwave he had expected. That was the Soundwave he had built his understanding upon.

But there in the clearing, sheltered beneath the shade of the redwood boughs, a different Soundwave had appeared. He was a_ mech_, an online, alive mech, hot energon and warm plating and shaking vents all wrapped around a pulsing spark. He wasn't a monster, nor a savior, nor even a good mech. But he was _there, _and he _existed_. He was, suddenly, the same mech Jazz had known before.

And as Jazz had thrown him down, swiped him down into the dirt and prepared to fire, he'd finally seen the frantic, frenzied dart of his optics beneath his visor, and had been transfixed by the expressions playing over his face: uncertainty, terror, hesitation, pleading. Soundwave had scrabbled in the dirt at Jazz's feet, staring up at him as his lips quivered against one another, and the dynamic between them had shifted suddenly. The puppet master of Jazz's spark was gone. The monster, the nightmare, the ruination, the predator who had twisted his world around had vanished. Instead, only Soundwave remained, as uncertain and unknowing to Jazz as he ever was.

Jazz had had a choice then. He could have ended everything, all of it, right then. He was certainly within his right. How he'd been used, how he'd been twisted. How his entire world had been remade around this mech, without so much as a by-you-leave from his spark or his will. He'd had _every right_ to pull the trigger and to reclaim what was his.

But his spark had rebelled, and suddenly he had moved. And then there were lips, and the touch that he had been craving, and Soundwave's presence all around him once more. And that had been _his_ choice. _His_ choice, bursting from his spark.

Jazz stumbled, transforming in a tumble of arms and legs as he crashed down to the desert on all fours, heaving in shaking, ragged pants of air. All of his systems were tuned too high, spinning too fast, and his body felt as if it were about to fly apart. A cold mass hovered within his chest, dark and alone, and the hum of his systems skirted the pulling need of his spark. He'd _seen_ Soundwave today, seen him for what he truly was: a mech, like him. Uncertain, like him. Afraid, like him. He was_ real_, not merely a Decepticon or a nightmare or a creature of darkness, and for the first time since he'd known the mech, Jazz had _seen_ that.

He had no idea what to do. He had no idea what to believe. The knowledge that Soundwave was a mech, a living, online mech, could only go so far. Truth was still mysterious, mercurial, eluding the tips of his sensors in wafts of potential. For the first time, Jazz truly knew that their world together, their shared life on make-believe Cybertron, was gone, and yet he hadn't a clue what this new world, this new understanding of his life cast in terms of Soundwave, meant just yet. He wanted to push reality at bay, hold it off, keep it from reacting for just a little bit longer. At least until the anguish, the burn, the screaming in his spark had a chance to uncoil.

Jazz leaned forward, exhaling slowly as he pressed his helm to the ground. He remained there, shuddering in shaking breaths, for too long a time.

* * *

Prowl stood outside the _Ark _silently, watching the gentle decline of the sun within the sky and letting the desert chill pervade into his armor. Nighttime sounds were emerging from the desert, creatures of darkness and the winds that kicked up only in the moonlight peeking out. His optics stared out over the sands, watching every tick of the compass and waiting for Jazz to reappear.

He'd restrained himself all afternoon, holding back from tearing after Jazz in a blind surge of protective emotion. It was all he wanted to save Jazz from this, to repair everything, but Jazz was fighting battles he couldn't see, and somewhere within his attempts to free him from his nightmares, Prowl had ended up on the wrong side of Jazz's spark. He'd tried to help, but perhaps he'd used too much force, too much pressure of care. It had never been his intention to push him away, and never his intention to wait in the growing darkness for his friend to return. Jazz wasn't supposed to run from him.

All he wanted was to save his friend, shelter him from what had been done. In his dreams, Jazz came to him, whispers and questions and seeking escape from his pain, and Prowl was able to grant it with his touch and his love, saving him over and over. His dreams shifted, turning to nightmares, and Prowl saw Soundwave's hands ghost over Jazz's plating, heard Jazz's breathy moans and soft gasps. He wanted to scream, shouting as loud as he could, but Jazz and Soundwave stayed locked in their embrace. He wanted to yell and wail and profess all his undying love for Jazz eternally. He wanted to hold him and call him his own. He wanted to be there with him, together till the end.

Someone had beaten him to it, however, and Prowl was left to pick up the pieces. Still, he did so, trying to find and collect each piece of Jazz's broken spark. His efforts were complicated by Jazz's rage, his friend's all-consuming, all-encompassing swirling maelstrom of bitter emotion.

His thoughts had tumbled against one another in chastening waves since their argument, as his spark had worked over where the blame had to lie. Sideswipe had returned, dutifully fulfilling his promise to bother Prowl once more, but with one look at the raging emotions buried within Prowl's optics, he'd turned around without a single word. In the end, Prowl had given up; the reason for their tiff, and the place to lay responsibility, was not as important as waiting for Jazz to return safely. And so he waited.

Finally, after mapping compass ticks and stretching out his sensors as wide and as far as he could, Prowl caught sight and sensor of Jazz's alt mode heading back to the _Ark_. He was moving calmly, driving along their well-worn paths at reasonable, sedate speeds, absent of the fury of his escape earlier. Prowl's spark jumped. He shifted on his feet, his hands fidgeting at his side. He hadn't brought a data pad with him when he first came outside. Now, he wished for the tactile distraction that would bring him, and his fingers rubbed against one another nervously as Jazz drew closer, finally driving into the wide mouth of the _Ark's_ entrance.

Prowl swallowed, then stepped forward. "I'm glad you're back safe," he said. "How was your drive?" His fingers rubbed together once more, small circles of his thumb rubbing over his nervous digits.

Jazz transformed slowly. He was silent, his visor dim, and he turned to stare at Prowl with the most complicated look Prowl had ever seen. Prowl's vents stuttered.

Finally Jazz moved, his optics offlining briefly as he came to some sort of monumental decision within his spark. He sighed, his shoulders rising and slumping, and he stood before Prowl with a nervous sort of apology hanging around his body. Prowl stared back, his lips parted in confusion, and waited for Jazz to make the first move. He'd do anything, whatever Jazz wanted. All Jazz had to do was ask.

"I'm sorry," Jazz whispered, physically dragging the words from his vocalizer. "I've been horrible."

"No, you haven't," Prowl interjected, shaking his helm. "You're healing. I understand, Jazz. I do."

Jazz nodded, looking down. "Were you waiting for me?"

Nodding, Prowl reached out, brushing his worried fingers against the back of Jazz's hand. "I just want to help. I just want to make everything right again, Jazz. I… _care_ about you." And the words were now spoken, and there was no going back. Before all of this mess, before Soundwave had stolen Jazz from him, they had been flitting around the potentiality between them, hovering on the edge of revelations of feelings and desires. It had been fun and light and playful, and it had been _theirs_.

Jazz's face twisted, pain and sorrow curling his expression. He inhaled shakily, still looking down and trying not to meet Prowl's optics. "I want you to know," Jazz began, his whispers shaking with repressed emotion and crashing guilt. "I want you to know that I _didn't_ forget about you." Jazz swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling slowly. "I kept asking, 'What about Prowl? What about Prowl?'" He shook his helm. "They told me you were a figment of my imagination, that I had created you out of my feelings for –" Jazz's voice cut off quickly, and he swallowed down Soundwave's name.

Prowl was intensely grateful for that, and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

Jazz continued, unaware of Prowl's reaction to his near slip. "I _didn't _forget you," he repeated before looking up. He smiled sadly, his helm tilting to the side. "You know I've always liked the strong, quiet types. It made sense, in a way. I'm so sorry I believed them." His vocalizer choked on the last words, and static crept into his voice.

All of Prowl's breath escaped his body, whooshing out of him in a physical rush. Jazz's words slammed straight into his spark, breaking past all of his barriers. He fought for what to say, couldn't find the right words to respond. Finally he reached out, both hands reaching for Jazz and gently pulling him into his arms. Jazz laid his on Prowl's shoulder and buried his face against Prowl's neck. Prowl's arms gently flowed over his plating, stroking up his back, rubbing tender circles against the white armor. Beneath his touch, Jazz trembled.

One hand came to rest on the back of Jazz's helm, and Prowl dropped lingering kiss on Jazz's forehelm. "You know I've always liked the warm, funny ones too," he whispered.

Jazz cringed. "That's not me anymore, Prowl. I don't know who I am right now."

"It _is_ you," Prowl whispered, his words and kisses alternating in time to each other. "It is you. I _know_ who you are, Jazz. We'll get through this, I _promise_." He pressed a long kiss to his forehelm. "You're _not_ alone," he breathed, pouring his love into his words.

Jazz felt something break within him, felt the snap of something that was wound too tight, and he sagged into Prowl's embrace. If Prowl knew who he was, then that was what he'd cling to. Prowl had been the beacon of his life before this, and their friendship had been his northern star. Prowl was everything that represented his old life, the old Jazz, the Jazz who knew who he was.

It wasn't that Prowl was Prowl, or that he was in love with Jazz, or that Jazz was lonely and scared and terrified of himself. It was some strange combination of everything, and it was the ultimate capitulation, a surrender to forces larger than Jazz. It was a plea for freedom, and a surrender to capture. It was falling, always falling and failing, and there was nothing to grasp, nothing to cling to. Jazz reached out for Prowl, desperate to stop his plunge.

Prowl's hand rose, cupping Jazz's face gently. Jazz tried to smile, and it came out a grimace. Prowl's thumb stroked over Jazz's cheekarch before he leaned down and pressed his lips against Jazz's.

In the grand scheme of the universe, the meeting of one pair of lips to another was an inconsequential matter, a triviality of importance. To Prowl, the kiss was the foundation of his world, and the facts of his life resettled in new ways as his spark leapt, and the care and affection he'd nurtured for Jazz for years suddenly sang forth, strumming forth from his soul. Prowl pictured the damaged pieces of Jazz's spark that he'd collected, sheltered within his hands, and he drew them near, protecting them close as he painted love over their fragile cracks.

Jazz whimpered, and his body began to truly tremble in Prowl's embrace. The Soundwave of their link had loved him in a way he'd never, ever known, and ever since, he'd been falling through a sea of pain and loneliness. Jazz reached out and grabbed hold of Prowl, seizing onto what he was offering with the strength of both hands. His fingers dug into his plating as their kiss lingered, the gentle stroking of lips against lips in unhurried motions.

It ended, as all kisses do, and Prowl suddenly found himself shy as he gazed into Jazz's optics. A small smile quirked across his face, embarrassed at his show of raw affection. Jazz smiled back, the first tiny smile Prowl had seen since everything had fallen apart, and Prowl's embarrassment vanished.

"Let's get inside," Prowl whispered. Jazz nodded, leaning on Prowl for warmth and reassurance, and they headed into the _Ark_ together, arms wrapped around waists and hands joined in front of their bodies, refusing to let go of their hold on the other. Jazz didn't care that he looked helpless and needy and lost. He was all of those things, and more.

Prowl led them to Jazz's quarters first, but Jazz shied away from his previous sanctuary. The darkness within sheltered all of his fantasies of Soundwave, all of his desperate pleas to return to that life and that love. The bulkheads within hid his secrets and his longings, and he wanted no part of that uncontrollable yearning, that terrifying desire. That was a spin out of control, a wild tumble of his spark. He couldn't go back there.

Instead, Prowl took him back to his quarters. They had spent so much time together in each others quarters over the years, laughing and talking and commiserating and whining together, being themselves and being together, and the fact that Prowl brought him back to his quarters should have had little meaning to their relationship. He was sheltering him, taking care of him, and letting him recharge in a safe place, away from his nightmares and fantasies.

Prowl had all the good intentions in the world as he laid Jazz down on his berth, gently settling him in a comfortable position. They were smiling at each other, shy, small smiles, and Jazz simply looked so stunningly beautiful as he propped himself up on Prowl's berth that he couldn't help himself. He leaned down for another kiss, and Jazz's hand rose to hold him in place, cupping the back of his helm. Prowl hissed, trying to twist away, but when he looked into Jazz's optics, there was simply so much need there, so much questioning, and he was so, so weak. He was too weak, faced with Jazz who gazed at him as if his touch could repair his pain and caught within his own emotions of desire and bitter rage at being supplanted by Soundwave. He surrendered, and with a gasp, he was pressing Jazz back against his berth and moving into his arms, suddenly kissing too hot and too fast. It was too easy to run his hands over Jazz's body, mapping the curves and lines he had fantasized over for years, too easy to press his mouth to Jazz's neck as he threw back his helm with a breathy, needy moan. It was too easy, and not enough at all, to tear apart their barriers and wrap Jazz up in his arms, making him his once more.

Prowl's optics burned as he slid within Jazz, and Jazz's mouth froze in a small 'o,' their gazes locked together, pleading with one another. Prowl stared down, taking in every twitch and flick in Jazz's expression as he moved into his body, burning the images and feelings into his spark. Jazz gasped, his helm thrown back, panting, and Prowl pressed hot kisses to Jazz's neck and chest. Prowl's hands traveled up Jazz's sides, playing over his body, and Jazz reached for Prowl's shoulders, clinging to him, terrified of letting go. Jazz's optics dimmed as the sensations mounted, driving him to the peak, and as the darkness of his mind closed in, the image of Soundwave, writhing beneath Jazz and panting his name burst forth from his memories.

Jazz overloaded with a ragged shout, hitching himself against Prowl, who gasped as his own overload was pulled from his body. Prowl's optics flickered, and he tried to meet Jazz's gaze as he shakily exhaled and collapsed at Jazz's side. Prowl reached for Jazz slowly, suddenly nervous at what had fallen between them, this jump he had taken off the cliffedge of reason. His fingers brushed over Jazz, and Jazz flinched away from the touch, his visor onlining in a burst of light as he twisted to stare at Prowl in shock, as if surprised it was he that was there at his side.

Much later, after kisses and searching words of apology and reassurance, and private berating on Prowl's part for his complete lack of control, they lay intertwined on the berth surface, Prowl flat on his back, doorwings spread wide and high with Jazz sprawled against his side, resting half on Prowl's chest. They talked softly as Prowl's hand stroked over the back of Jazz's neck.

"I'm sorry," Prowl said again.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I wanted our first time to be different," Prowl said softly, resignation in his optics.

Jazz swallowed. His fingers played over one of the seams along Prowl's plating. "I wanted a lot of things to be different," Jazz whispered. "I wanted to not betray you."

Prowl cupped Jazz's helm. "You didn't betray me," he whispered back. "It wasn't your fault."

"I just," Jazz began, haltingly. "I feel like I'm falling, and I don't know if I am ever going to stop. I don't know how far I can fall. I can betray you. I can-" Jazz stopped, not finishing his sentence. _I can fall in love with a Decepticon._

Prowl remained silent for a long moment before his hand drifted down to Jazz's shoulder. "You are familiar with Primus's punishment of The Fallen?"

Jazz nodded. "He fell through the stars, until the singularity swallowed him whole."

"Some philosophers have theorized that the fall was worse than the singularity," Prowl whispered, not meeting Jazz's gaze. "That falling forever was worse than the end. Worse than the impact. The dread of the fall eclipsed the finality of the end."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Jazz frowned, staring at Prowl.

Swallowing, Prowl shifted, grasping Jazz's hand. "Let me catch you," he whispered, faint tinges of questioning within his gaze.

"I'm trying." Jazz's whispers ghosted over Prowl's armor, and he had to look away from Prowl's gaze. He turned and laid his helm down on Prowl's bumper, gazing into the darkness of Prowl's quarters as Prowl's hand kept stroking over his back, warm and steady.

Soundwave's image never left Jazz's processor. If he offlined his optics, he could almost imagine it was Soundwave's hand drifting across his plating, and Soundwave's spark pulsing beneath his audial.

Jazz's thoughts veered wildly, and he wondered suddenly if The Fallen had felt remorse for his betrayal. Was this what it felt like, to be stuck in between damnation and redemption, neither his for the taking? An eternal limbo yawned wide, a lifetime of uncertainty and bitter regret. _Because thou hast done this, the stars shall be your prison, and dust shall thou eat for all of your days_, Primus had decreed to his fallen child. _Because thou hast done this._

The memories washed through his processor in crests and waves, and Jazz forced his optics to remain online.

Nothing eased the wrenching ache within in his spark, or the furious yearning in his soul.

* * *

Soundwave settled into his seat in the _Nemesis_ mess and pulled his energon cube close. Laserbeak and Ravage surrounded him, buffeting him from the rest of the room and enclosing their leader in the protective wrap of their presence. His two feral cassettes had been lingering around him for the past two weeks, ever since he had returned from his disastrous run in with Jazz in the forest clearing. They stayed near him at all times, and the brief, flitting emotions that passed between them during their recharge within his chest suggested the faintest hints of reassurance mixed with protection. He tried to pull back from their probing touches, removing himself from their care, but still, they lingered. Ravage had even taken to ejecting himself at night when Soundwave couldn't initiate his recharge cycle, or couldn't remain within recharge for more than an hour before onlining in a lancing bolt of terror, desire, or some other terrible emotion. Soundwave at first had thought it was out of self-service, that Ravage could endure the nights more peacefully on his own. Instead, he had been surprised to find that Ravage stayed at his side throughout each tumultuous night, curled up against his warm plating. It had taken a week before Soundwave's hand moved to rest along Ravage's back.

That was just one of many, many things that were no longer right within Soundwave's world. Since his run-in with Jazz, since his near-termination, since their terrible, spark-breaking kiss, everything had been torn asunder. Nothing was right any longer, and the world had settled into a horrible and unfamiliar pattern.

Rage stewed within him at all times. The need to devastate, to destroy, to lash out at everyone and everything was nearly overwhelming. He hadn't allowed this change to take place. He hadn't authorized his spark to fall so deeply in love, or to fall in love at all. Love wasn't for him, not in his lifetime. His spark was a pit of darkness, a vast pool of seething rage and bitterness that stoked the fires of injustice burning within his soul. _Nothing_ had been easy for him, or for his kind, and his life was a testament to the bitter struggle they had all endured together, fighting against tyranny and winning each battle of strength and freedom back from their oppressors. Soundwave couldn't remember a time when he had felt _anything_ but the need to claim and to conquer. He couldn't remember if there had been a tender time in his past, and all that stretched out in his memory was a spark full of roiling bitterness at the life he'd been handed.

Why couldn't he have been sparked in Iacon? In a place of prestige? In a life of ease, comfort, and tenderness? Why couldn't he have been graced with love from an early age? Why was he locked away from the touches of the emotion, kept from its experience, left to wallow in darkness and struggle with his fellow soldiers against depression and oppression?

There were no answers for him, or for his screaming spark.

He had worked _so_ hard, for _so_ long, building a new world out of the strength of his servos and the determination of his spark. He'd dedicated himself to this cause, to their shared cause of freedom. He'd focused his rage, turned it into a tool, a perfect, deadly tool of cutting devastation. He'd worked his way through the tricky hierarchy of Decepticon politics, always remaining at Megatron's side, a perfect façade, a hard shell, an unbreakable, iron-willed force. He'd been reliable, and so much more.

And then, quite suddenly, his spark had ceased to become his own. It was his enemy's best maneuver, a brilliant coup d'état, mapping out the soul and spark of Soundwave before he had even known himself. How could an Autobot be what he needed? How could an Autobot be the answer to his lifelong question of _why_?

Dread rose full force within Soundwave once more, and he tried to clamp down upon it. He was losing control, and that was just another thing to rage over. In dark moments, in moments that he was not proud of at all, he wanted to kill Jazz. To destroy him. To offline him entirely. He wanted to erase his existence, banish him from his spark, erase the pain of loving him from his life.

Equal tides of desire rose within him, to be destructive and devoted, to devastate and to weep, to rage and to cherish. To kill and to rescue. To hate and to love. He didn't know who he was any longer, and the agony was simply killing him. He never _allowed_ Jazz to walk off with his spark, and a part of him _hated_ him for that. In the end, however, he only had himself to blame.

The mess doors slid open, and Thundercracker entered. Soundwave turned his helm, avoiding Thundercracker's probing gaze. The Seeker had subjected him to a litany of questions during their ride back to the _Nemesis_, and Soundwave hadn't deigned to answer a one. He was fed up with the subterfuge, and he couldn't figure out why the blue jet was attempting to sidle up to him. It was enough to make him snap, and if Thundercracker tried one more time to pursue his line of questioning, Soundwave didn't know just what he'd do. The darkness screamed within him, begging to be unleashed.

Naturally, Thundercracker headed straight for Soundwave's table. He was entirely undeterred by the ferocity exuding from Soundwave.

To Thundercracker, Soundwave had forever been associated within his mind with the silent, tortured mech who sat by Jazz's side fingers laced with Jazz's and his arm wrapped around his waist. Soundwave was simply so protective of Jazz, and his feelings had been laid bare within the telepathic reality in grand display. The two mechs Thundercracker now knew - the Soundwave of past, stalwart at Megatron's side, and the Soundwave of the present, yearning for Jazz with a passion that wept from this plating - were nearly irreconcilable.

Ravage bristled as Thundercracker neared, and Laserbeak fluttered down to the table surface, glaring at Thundercracker when he sat. The cassettes flanked Soundwave, his own personal retinue of snarls and protection, but Thundercracker ignored them both. "Where's Rumble and Frenzy?" he asked, sipping at his cube.

Soundwave stared across the mess, rudely not bothering to acknowledge Thundercracker's presence. "Location unknown," he growled.

"Do they know?" Thundercracker pressed forward, charging into territory that even Soundwave's symbionts had hesitated to venture. His optics shifted, narrowing as he studied the Communications officer. "Do they know about the Autobot?"

Soundwave turned, burning a murderous glare into Thundercracker's gaze. Thundercracker refused to back down

"Negative," Soundwave finally rumbled. "Rumble and Frenzy: uninformed."

Thundercracker frowned, then pointed to the feral cassettes. "Do they?"

Soundwave looked away. His hands clenched down around his cube, and a part of him imagined it was Thundercracker's throat, and that he could silence the blue Seeker with the force of his rage.

Thundercracker continued, ignorant of Soundwave's mounting wrath. "Recon suggests he's back on duty, you know." Soundwave had pulled back entirely from all intelligence gathering, and the Seekers were running aerial flights for the past week instead of Laserbeak. "Looks like he's out and about, too."

"This line of inquiry. This attempt at information gathering: state your reasons." Soundwave turned his glare back to Thundercracker, his processor calling up different ways to offline the jet in ever-increasingly painful ways. He could rip out his vocalizer, physically wrench the offensive part from the mech. He could tear apart his wings, brutally destroy his alt mode in slow, perfect misery. He could sever his lines, and leave him to leak out all over the mess deck. He could end his existence, and end the annoying and entirely too painful questions flaying him open. He could end this threat to his spark, and to this breach in his weakness. He could feel the burn to destroy Thundercracker, to murder him, desired it even.

Thundercracker paused, staring at Soundwave for a long moment. His optics narrowed once again, and he leaned back carefully, watching the larger mech. He stilled, carefully choosing his words before speaking.

"We are familiar, you and I," Thundercracker said slowly. "We share a common desire."

Soundwave remained silent, granting Thundercracker a brief reprieve from execution to explain himself.

"Cybertron is _gone_. The planet we knew, our home, is _dead_. Everything about it." Thundercracker leaned forward, his optics beginning to glow. "And with it, all of the past has _died_ as well." Thundercracker's optics slid sideways to the door before continuing. "Megatron doesn't quite realize the full impact of this. He'd rather fight Prime to the death on a backcircuit organic planet than seize what's _right_ in front of his face." Thundercracker paused, hesitating before continuing. Soundwave had always, _always_ defended Megatron from Starscream's rages and outbursts, and Thundercracker was impressed he'd even managed to speak as much as he already had.

"What you created, within that uplink? That's what we need to create in reality. _That _Cybertron. _That_ future. Freedom and strength powering the planet once more." Thundercracker's voice was low as he spoke, leaning down across the table. "Right now, we don't have the resources to repower our home. It's just wasting away in space, and we're _wasting_ time here instead of trying to _do_ something about that." Thundercracker's optics flashed, and he leaned closer, briefly bringing their helms bare inches apart as he whispered, "It won't be like that forever."

Slowly, Soundwave turned toward Thundercracker's voice speaking into his audial, watching as the Seeker pulled back, a challenging look on his face. "Revolutions against Megatron: never succeed," Soundwave growled.

"No, none have. Not yet," Thundercracker conceded. "And it's not the time. But _one_ day, the time will come, and we will need to choose between wasting time _here_, or returning to our true purpose: reclaiming Cybertron." Thundercracker's voice dipped low as he ground out the final words. "And when that time comes," Thundercracker whispered. "Starscream is going to need a mech like you. A mech with that kind of vision. A mech for details." Thundercracker's optics held Soundwave's.

"Negative," Soundwave growled. "No part in revolution desired."

"Careful, Soundwave," Thundercracker cautioned. "Do you honestly think you could nurture your fascination under Megatron?"

Soundwave's optics flared, flashing with rage. "Starscream: no different."

A smirk stretched across Thundercracker's face. "But _I_ am different," he said smoothly. "And Starscream can't do _anything_ without _us_," he finished, referring to the Air Commander's trine. His lip curled upward. "You see, you and I are the only mechs here who think the Autobots may not be all horrible," he said, speaking aloud traitorous words that had sent other Decepticons to their termination for speaking less.

"Negative," Soundwave spat out quickly. "Belief not shared."

"Oh, really?" Thundercracker leaned forward, his optics glinting. "Should Jazz be a 'Con then? Should he defect? Should he be here with us, right now?"

Crazed fury bloomed within Soundwave's spark, flaring at Thundercracker's mention of Jazz. He had no right to speak his name. "Negative," Soundwave ground out through gritted denta. "Jazz: never would be a Decepticon." The thought was impossible, and he couldn't ever reconcile a universe where Jazz was painted with his darkness, mired in the seething bitterness of his past. It would destroy him, everything about him, and it was an impossibility.

"Exactly," Thundercracker breathed out, hissing the word out slowly through his too-smug face. "_Exactly."_

For one brief moment, Soundwave thought he'd truly offline Thundercracker. He imagined it, felt the rush of energon within him as he prepared for the kill, felt the crystallization of colors within his mind, freezing the moment to his spark before he prepared to strike. He felt the coiling of his cables, the strength behind his power rearing up to explode outward. He imagined the warmth of Thundercracker's internals, the liquid energon flowing over his hands and pooling on the ground. His darkness screamed, roaring to be let loose.

Thundercracker continued, heedless of his virtual murder within Soundwave's processor. "So why is it you care for him, hmm? Could it be _because_ he's an Autobot? _Because_ he's different? Because he's never felt this pain? This bitterness and wrath?" Thundercracker's voice continued to drop, growling over the words as his own raw emotions began pouring forth, infecting his voice. Their way had never been an easy one, nor a happy one.

Trembles settled over Soundwave's body, fueled entirely by the unshed rage spewing from his spark. He tried to contain it, bottle it back up, but once again, he couldn't restrain his emotions behind his mask any longer. His hands clenched, crushing against his cube and creaking the surface with crystalline webs of latticed fractures. He could feel every single piece of his soul, each bit of darkness within him crying out, screaming for the lightness within Jazz. Screaming for that which he had _never_ known. Clawing toward the one mech that he had found peace with, even for such a brief, tender time. The force of it was overwhelming, and Soundwave offlined his visor against the surging power, heaving great breaths through his vents to calm his systems.

Primus damn him, but he wanted that. And Primus _had_ damned him, entirely so.

Soundwave onlined his optics and his visor, staring back at Thundercracker. He expected smugness, expected a sneer, expected satisfaction to be gazing back at him, the pride of having captured Soundwave within his folly once more. Instead, Thundercracker was staring at him calmly, an almost look of understanding within his optics.

"One day," Thundercracker said softly. "Things will change. And we can count on each other then."

Slowly, too slowly, Soundwave nodded, up and down, one time.

"_Starscream to Thundercracker!"_ Thundercracker's comm unit suddenly blared through the stillness of the mess hall.

Thundercracker frowned. "What is it, Screamer?"

"_We're going on the attack!"_ As Starscream spoke, the alert sounded throughout the _Nemesis_, calling all Decepticons to ready for battle against the Autobots. Thundercracker and Soundwave shared one surprised look before automatically jumping to their feet. Too many years of battles and reactions had honed their reflexes to respond.

Still, as Soundwave moved behind Thundercracker and they raced through the _Nemesis_, heading to the hanger deck with the rest of the Decepticons, his thoughts returned to Jazz, his spark spiking with a fear never before present in battle. _What about Jazz? _How could he face him in battle now? For once, the darkness within receded, abandoning him entirely, and leaving Soundwave to fall alone, reaching for his love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Fracture Mechanics Eight**

* * *

_This one's for you, Hill! :) Thank you for everything._

* * *

"Soundwave!" Megatron barked. "We need to get through to the refinery. What is the best course?"

Soundwave scanned the battlefield, the refinery on the coast that they had attacked and had easily broken into, thanks to the information stolen from Jazz. "Lateral perimeter, left," he droned back, indicating across the unfolding battle. Soundwave and Megatron stood back from the main battle zone, watching the uproar unfolding. Autobots and Decepticons traded shots and blows in the space between Soundwave and Megatron and the refinery itself.

Betrayingly, Soundwave scanned for Jazz the moment the Autobots had arrived. The first forces, the frontliners and sharpshooters, barreled helm-first into the attacking Stunticons and Combaticons while the Seekers above provided air cover and set up strafing runs at the rest of the responding Autobots. Soundwave watched it all with a mixture of dread, hope, and need; dread that Jazz would show up, hope that he would be safe, and need for the energon they could formulate from this raid.

He'd finally spotted Jazz when Prime arrived. Jazz hung next to the Autobot leader, peering into the battle and advising Prime in a similar way as Soundwave was doing for Megatron. His gaze had fixed to Jazz, his jaw clenching impossibly tight with strung-out cables._ Primus, Jazz…_

"Starscream!" Megatron barked into his comm. "Lead your trine around to the perimeter, left side! Their forces are weaker there!"

Above, Starscream broke off, veering away from his trinemates as Skywarp and Thundercracker rolled into another strafing run down the Autobot lines. Soundwave's spark stuttered as Skywarp's shots veered toward Jazz and Prime, exploding in the dirt near to their position. He saw Jazz dive, duck down away from the incoming laser fire, and he strained to see through the blooming dust cloud that suddenly obscured him. Skywarp peeled away from the attack, rising above and falling in line with Starscream after a victory shout through their comm lines.

"Soundwave!" Megatron snapped. "Let's advance!"

o - o

Sideswipe slammed his fist into Wildrider, feeling the crunch of the mech's cheek beneath his clenched fingers. Next to him, Sunstreaker grappled hand-to-hand with Motormaster, snarling and growling as the two fought for vicious dominance. Sunstreaker was throwing all of himself into the battle, and his plating was streaked with scratches, oil, and dents from their mad tangle of fury.

Wildrider jumped back up, swinging away at Sideswipe, intent on revenge and dominance through his psychotic rage. Sideswipe reared back, swinging again, and the two fell into their own hand-to-hand struggle next to their brothers.

As they twisted and circled, shoulders bearing into one another and hands tearing at helms and plating before pulling back to punch and kick viciously, Sideswipe caught sight of Prowl, moving with Bluestreak along the rear of their battle area. The two gunners ran quickly, setting up a new position near a clear field of fire, and as Bluestreak hunkered down to resume firing, Sideswipe saw Prowl's gaze fix across the battlefield, suddenly keying into a new combatant.

Distracted, Sideswipe didn't see Wildrider's fist until it slammed into his face, nor the Ferrari's kick lashing out, smashing into his abdominal plating with a sickening crunch. Sideswipe doubled over, his vents heaving as his optics fritzed.

Wildrider grinned, a crazed gleam to his optics, and reared back to pummel Sideswipe again.

o - o

Prime helped Jazz to his feet as his optics continued to scan the battlefield. "Megatron is on the move," he rumbled, his gaze following Megatron's movements toward the refinery's perimeter.

Next to Prime, Jazz coughed on the dust choking his intakes, though his optics were fixed to the hulking blue body of Soundwave moving with Megatron. He couldn't take his optics from him, and his spark was raging against his processor. This wasn't how he wanted to see Soundwave, or to know him. The mech from the forest, or from their uplink, seemed distant and foreign next to the reality of the battle.

"Aerialbots! Take on Starscream's trine at the left perimeter!" Prime called through the battlenet. "Jazz, let's move closer. Are you alright?"

Jazz nodded, his optics quickly glancing to Prime before moving back to Soundwave. Megatron and Soundwave had moved as well, and the Seekers were strafing overhead against the perimeter fencing, trying to knock down the towers and guard shacks without disturbing the sensitive oil tankers within.

From above, the Aerialbots streaked in overhead, snappy engines and contrails marking their entrance to the battle. They zipped quickly over the furiously scrabbling mechs below and buzzed right through the Seeker trine, knocking the Decepticon jets out of their formation.

Starscream snarled as Skywarp groaned, disgusted with the Aerialbot interference. "Break right!" Starscream shouted. "Send these feculent bolt-rusting Aerialbots to the ground!"

Below, Smokescreen lined up to fire next to Bluestreak, zeroing in on Wildrider and preparing to fire another series of shots to cover Sideswipe. The red twin was pushing up from the dirt and readying for another go around with the psychotic Ferrari as Sunstreaker continued his feral grappling with a snarling, raging Motormaster. Bluestreak, next to Smokescreen, snapped out a series of shots across the battlefield, slicing into each of the Combaticons armor before firing on the Stunticons. Smokescreen, however, took care of the twins.

"What's Prowl doing?" Smokescreen shouted above the racket of the battle, his optics flicking over to their SIC, darting across the battlelines in a low run, sneaking further to the perimeter. "The Aerialbots aren't going to know he's in their kill zone!"

"Dunno!" Bluestreak shouted back. "Watch out for Wildrider, he's getting back up!"

Smokescreen refocused his attentions back to the red twin and the enraged Stunticon, hefting his rifle scope up to his optic.

o - o

Prime and Jazz moved together, running with their rifles out and ready to fire. Above, the Seekers and Aerialbots roared against one another at all altitudes, laser fire scorching the air all around, igniting the battlefield with the stench of burning ozone. "We must reinforce the perimeter," Prime called back to Jazz. "Let's back up the Aerialbots!"

Jazz nodded stiffly, casting a lingering look back toward Soundwave. He turned and followed Prime, dashing through the refinery's inner workings to reach the weakened perimeter. Soundwave or no Soundwave, they had to protect the humans from the ravages of their war, and at the moment, Soundwave was the enemy.

Finally, Prowl had reached the perfect position, hidden behind one of the abandoned guard shacks dotting the perimeter of the refinery. No one could see him, not anywhere. He crouched low, his doorwings pinned back, and peered through the blown windows of the shack, across the short distance separating himself and the Decepticon command team.

Logically, he knew he should target Megatron. He was close enough to do so, and how many chances did the Autobots have to directly target the Decepticon leader? His armor was thicker than any mechs online, save Prime, and their normal weapons couldn't penetrate his defenses much, but there were vulnerabilities. Sideseams, transformation points, any one of a dozen Prowl could have targeted onto.

Instead, he hefted his rifle, clicking the power coupling up to the highest output, and zeroed his scope onto Soundwave. The blue mech was scanning the battlefield, seemingly distracted, and Megatron was glaring skyward as he watched the Seekers and Aerialbots tear into one another. Soundwave's helm twisted, glancing over the refinery once more, and Prowl's spark chilled, ice-hatred flowing through his very soul. He inhaled once, and fired.

o - o

A squabble above forced Prime and Jazz to turn their attentions skyward, just in time to see Starscream unleash upon Slingshot in a furious tear of laser fire. The Aerialbots closed ranks immediately, and Skywarp and Thundercracker began picking off the joining flyers as Starscream veered up and away, rolling back crazily to Megatron.

"What's going on?" Jazz asked, trying to push back to the main battlefield. He couldn't see what had happened, but something had changed, something had shifted, and a different energy and presence was suddenly streaking through the Decepticon ranks.

"I do not know," Prime rumbled. "We need to support the Aerialbots." He fired, trying to startle the Seekers out of their flight path while at the same time not disrupt the Aerialbots' own maneuvers. Friendly fire was the worst sort of casualty on the battlefield.

Jazz raised his rifle alongside Prime, just as the comms started screaming over the battlenet. "Soundwave's down! Soundwave's down!" Bluestreak's' voice called out in time with Smokescreen and Hot Spot. "They're pulling back!"

Starscream's scratchy voice shouted across the battlefield, screeching horribly and grating against the audials of the mechs. "Decepticons!" He hollered. "Retreat!" Thundercracker pulled away first, rolling back to Megatron's location as the Constructicons were called to his side as well.

Jazz's spark sputtered, dropping from his chestplates as his lines iced over. He turned and ran, ignoring Prime and tearing back to the exterior of the refinery as the shouts continued across the Autobot battlenet: _"Where'd that shot come from?" "Did you see him go down?" "Did that offline him for good?"_

When Jazz burst back through the refinery's fencing, his optics scanned across the battlefield frantically, his spark pulsing and pounding, his lines surging, and fear and pleading were resounding through his helm in unending eaves. _He can't be offline. He can't be._ He took in the battlefield, the retreating Decepticons, Sideswipe doubled over, heaving through his vents as Sunstreaker stood next to him, his plating nearly shredded. Bluestreak, firing shots up into the air at Skywarp, and Smokescreen, racing with Ratchet to both Sideswipe and the Protectobots as First Aid cleared a landing zone for two smoking Aerialbots. His gaze continued sweeping, right across the industrial landscape, until he came upon the sight of a limp, offline Soundwave balanced on the back of Long Haul. Megatron snapped orders as the Seekers covered the Decepticon escape, and Starscream zipped off first, racing through the skies in a quick rush back to the _Nemesis._

Prowl stared after the retreating convoy, smug pride filling his entire being. His fingers curled around his pulse rifle in a darkly delighted grip. That was his best shot, his favorite shot, and Jazz's face flashed before his optics. _That was for you. _

Jazz's spark stopped as he saw Soundwave's arm flop off of Long Haul's alt mode. He hadn't a clue if Soundwave was online or not, but for the first time since everything had come flying apart, he _knew_ how he felt, for the moment.

He was _terrified_.

* * *

Sideswipe trudged down the _Ark's_ corridors, one hand idly rubbing over his chest as he rolled his helm from side to side, trying to work out the kinks and stiffness. Ratchet had reset his vents, and though he was breathing fine now and his engine wasn't sputtering, the residual soreness of the battle still clung to him. He hadn't yet been to the washracks either; dirt, burns, and long, jagged scratches spread out over his armor.

He sighed as he paused outside Prowl's closed office doors. Leave it to Prowl to head right back to work after a surprise battle. The surprise Decepticon surprise and their response was a seeming inconvenience to Prowl's workday, and he had subsumed himself back within his office almost the moment the Officers had been released from the Command Deck. Sideswipe reached out and pressed the doorchime, leaning heavily into the movement.

"Enter!" barked Prowl's voice from within. Sideswipe slid inside as the doors opened, then paused, frowning as he took in Prowl's slightly unusual behavior. His doorwings were arched in a way Sideswipe had only seen rarely, high-held and flaring wide, spreading out broadly behind him, and twitching. His optics were overly bright, nearly pulsing, and his face held a force of tangled emotion hidden behind his stoic façade. Sideswipe had _never_ seen Prowl so wound up. He seemed to still be in battle mode. There was an air of deadly efficiency around him. Sideswipe's frown grew deeper.

"What is it, Sideswipe?" Prowl asked, his optics scanning the data pad in his hand.

Stifling a small sigh, Sideswipe moved to Prowl's desk. It was too much to imagine Prowl asking after him: _How's the ventilations, Sideswipe? Are you alright, Sideswipe? How was grappling with Wildrider, Sideswipe? I saw what you did in battle, Sideswipe. _He was stupid for thinking such thoughts, but it'd be nice if someone thought something more of him than simply the hard-plated frontliner.

"I came to ask about our leave request," Sideswipe began. "I know it's probably canceled now, what with the attack and all, but since we never heard, I thought I'd ask." Sideswipe shrugged as he shifted. "If we're going to make it, we've got to leave tomorrow, though, to get to San Francisco on time."

Prowl stopped reading his as Sideswipe spoke, and those burning optics bored into the red twin. He frowned. "I don't believe I remember seeing the reason for your leave on your request form. Why do you and Sunstreaker want to go to San Francisco?"

Sideswipe shrugged again, looking away. "Never been. Seems like a nice place." Sideswipe smiled sadly. "I know we probably can't go now, but I thought I'd ask."

Prowl didn't believe the twins did anything just because it seemed like a nice place, or a nice idea at the time, though that was often the excuse presented to him. "Why isn't Bluestreak going with you?"

Sideswipe inhaled as he held Prowl's stare. Bluestreak and Sunstreaker had been dating for a while, but he'd be damned if he could figure out their relationship. Unfortunately, it seemed more and more like Sunstreaker was feeling the same frustrations and lack of understanding. "He didn't want to."

Prowl's frown deepened. He had a feeling that might have been the first truthful statement Sideswipe had said to him about the entire trip. "And it is important for you two to go this weekend?"

Sideswipe shrugged and grinned. "There's good weather this weekend," he said perkily.

Prowl made a non-committal noise as he stared Sideswipe down. Finally, after a long, long moment, he set his data pad down on his desk with a loud click and rose, glaring at Sideswipe. "Seeing as the Decepticons were just handed a devastating blow, and they will most likely cower in hiding for a while, I see no reason why two _well-behaved_ mechs can't go for a drive." His optics pierced Sideswipe's. "Do not make me regret this."

Sideswipe smiled and shook his helm. "You won't. Thank you, Prowl." Sunstreaker had been looking forward to their trip for months, and Sideswipe was near desperate to get out of the _Ark_. He paused, holding Prowl's stare. "That was a pretty amazing shot you know," he added softly. "I mean, it was perfect, really."

Prowl's doorwings were vibrating, their entire surface suddenly riddled with tension and release at once, and Prowl flicked them up and out, jerking them back to their stiff and high-held position. He dropped his gaze from Sideswipe, staring down at his desk as he shuffled his data pads and busied himself with making piles. "I do not know what you are talking about," Prowl snapped

Sideswipe chewed on his bottom lip. "Against Soundwave. That was a really great shot, Prowl."

Prowl's helm shot up, and his optics, burning with an almost feral power, shot straight through Sideswipe. "Dismissed, Sideswipe," Prowl growled. "I'd like to not see a speeding ticket on my desk from either of you."

Sideswipe nodded, his mouth snapping shut, and as Prowl turned back to his work, clearly ignoring Sideswipe for the last time, Sideswipe marched to the door. At the last moment he glanced back. The tactician's doorwings were once again vibrating as Prowl remained standing behind his desk, searching through his data pads. Sideswipe stared for a few seconds before shaking his helm and palming open the door.

He _had_ to get off the _Ark_.

* * *

Jazz leaned forward, letting the spray of the spigot rain on his plating, streaming down his neck and trickling across his back and throughout the undersides of his armor. The water stroked over his protoform, slipping down his body before whisking away. He heaved a sigh from his vents, blowing droplets of water that had caught on his lips out in tiny spatters. His fingers clenched against the bulkhead, tensing as his fingers scrapped tiny scratches against the metal. The spigot continued to stream down onto his body as he slumped forward, and his forehelm thunked against the bulkhead with a wet clink.

Soundwave's still body kept flashing through his processor, the cold, offline slump he had fallen in, and the haphazard manner in which he was loaded into Long Haul's bed as the Decepticons fled. His arm, falling limp to the side. Soundwave had never fallen, not once, not in battle or anywhere else in all the time they had been warring, and _now_, now when Jazz hadn't a clue how he felt about the Decepticon, he'd gone and gotten himself shot. Jazz's thoughts were raging, swirling amongst thoughts of panic and crazed worry. Was Soundwave damaged? Was it serious? Could he possibly- No, Jazz forced that thought away. Who had shot him so terribly perfectly?

It was with a gentle and tumultuous understanding that Jazz realized he was not in fact celebrating the shooting of his one-time lover.

The haunting, burning longing that he was lost in was still a stinging reminder of all that he had lost.

Jazz didn't know what to do with his and Soundwave's moment in the grove. It hurt too much to think about, and in the end, Jazz simply hadn't. He'd abdicated all thought, and all of his feelings.

And then, Prowl had offered his love, and like a starving mech for energy, Jazz seized hold. He didn't have to make choices about life and love and causes if Prowl were there, loving him. All he had to do was _feel_, react, and simply be in the uncomplicated joy of being cared for.

His processor and spark rebelled, drawing up images and memories of his and Soundwave's time together, but he ruthlessly pushed such feelings aside as quick as he could.

This panic, though, could not be pushed aside. This spark-deep, surging fear, this tank-wrenching, line-pounding rush of horror. Thoughts of Soundwave were too much, and Jazz dimmed his optics as another wave of panic rose within him.

The washrack doors slid open and Sideswipe slipped in. Jazz straightened quickly, turning away from Sideswipe as he reached for the bottle of cleanser.

"Heya Jazz," Sideswipe called out. Jazz waved and nodded back but said nothing, and Sideswipe offered him a tired smile before turning to his own spigot. Silence filled the washracks, each mech stewing in his own thoughts until finally the washrack doors slid open once more. Sideswipe, determinedly scrubbing at a scorch mark on his sideplating, twisted around as Prowl walked through the doors. If he had been less exhausted, Sideswipe could have reacted better, calling out one of his customary greetings or teasing one-liners. Instead, all he did was stare, mouth open, slight frown on his face.

Not that it mattered. Prowl bypassed Sideswipe with a cursory nod and headed straight for Jazz. Jazz straightened and tried to smile at Prowl as the SIC stopped just outside Jazz's spray. Soap suds tumbled over half of Jazz's plating.

"Hey," Jazz said, shaking his helm free of a pile of soap suds.

Prowl smiled back at Jazz, a thin smile that didn't reach the fire in his optics. A different burn pushed out of his gaze, and his doorwings were jutting out more broadly than usual, his shoulders straight and stiff. "Hey yourself," Prowl answered, his voice dark and deep.

Jazz started at the power rumbling throughout Prowl's words. He paused as he scrubbed up one of his arms. "You alright?"

Slowly, Prowl nodded, his gaze never leaving Jazz's. "Let me get your back," he offered, motioning for Jazz to spin. Jazz did, after only a slight moment's hesitation, and he tried to shield most of the spraying liquid from Prowl's body. Prowl moved too-close, one hand braced against Jazz's hip and oh-so-deliciously stroked it down his back. Jazz struggled to stifle his moan.

Watching from beneath his spigot, Sideswipe's expression darkened. It had been all over the _Ark_ faster than anything else when Jazz and Prowl got together. Jazz had essentially moved in with Prowl, and while they weren't overly demonstrative with their relationship, the _Ark_ still reeled at the sudden news. Prowl was still as busy and unapproachable as ever, wrapped up in increasing Command Staff meetings and a new project with Ratchet and Wheeljack, and Jazz, though seemingly on the mend after finally waking from the processor damage of his and Mirage's ambush, still kept more to himself than usual.

Sideswipe watched Prowl's hand lazily drift up Jazz's back. Prowl's fingers tightened fractionally on Jazz's hip as he slowly stroked down, and Jazz moaned, low and static-filled. Sideswipe frowned, twisting to try and reach his own back. A large, dark smudge still dirtied his armor, and the oily base refused to wash away with the solvent. He'd have to scrub it, but of course, he couldn't reach. He tried, twisting and contorting, but he just couldn't reach that one spot. His gaze flicked back to Prowl and Jazz, immediately noticing that Prowl had stepped closer, if at all possible, to Jazz's body.

_Sure would be nice to have someone washing my back,_ Sideswipe groused, watching the pair for too long a moment. He felt dirty, watching, and then it just became too much. He palmed off the spigot and walked out, catching another of Jazz's low moans on his rush out the door. Sideswipe snagged a towel as he left, rubbing it over his helm quickly to wipe away the water before it dropped around his shoulders. Little droplets of water fell off his plating as he hurried down the hallway, but he didn't care. His mood, already exhausted, drained, and bruised alongside his body from the battle, had only been sliding down to deeper, darker depths since he'd left the medbay.

He really needed to get off the _Ark_ for a while.

Of course, it would have been too much to hope for a quiet evening. Sideswipe cringed as he rounded the corridor toward his and Sunstreaker's shared quarters. Raised voices bounded down the hallway, screaming in a heated, pitched argument. Sideswipe sighed, his mood plummeting further.

Just as so many times before, he and Sunstreaker ended up in the medbay after their battle with the Decepticons. Sideswipe was the more wounded, his ventilations knocked off cycle and his engine misfiring, but Sunstreaker had scrapes, gouges, and ruptured energon lines in his peripheral systems as well. Ratchet fixed them both quickly and sent them on their way, though not without his customary admonishments to "be more careful next time," as if "careful" were possible in a feverish war.

And, just as every time before, Bluestreak hadn't bothered to come to the medbay to see either of them.

"Why are you making this such a big deal?" Sideswipe heard, Bluestreak screaming at the top of his voice. "This isn't what we said we both wanted and I don't like that you're blaming me for something silly like this! It's not fair, and it's not like you're badly injured! Just relax!"

"Relax?" Sunstreaker's booming voice bellowed back. "Do you even care? You never seem like you do!"

"Stop telling me how to feel, 'cause I'm sick of it and I'm sick of hearing this slag!"

Sideswipe winced as he paused outside his door. It split open suddenly, hissing as Bluestreak stormed out, a furious, frustrated expression distorting his normally laughing face. He blew past Sideswipe without even looking at the red twin, storming down the corridor with all of his steaming anger.

Sunstreaker was raging, a dark storm cloud of furious ire. His optics were blazing white-hot, crackling, and his body vibrated with the forced repression of his too-keenly-felt pain. Sideswipe met his gaze as the doors slid closed, and then, Sunstreaker exploded. He whirled and reared back, his hand closed into a fist that he sent flying into the bulkhead with far too much force. The metal cratered, crunching with a fragile delicacy beneath the pain of his rage. He roared back and slammed his fist into the cratered bulkhead again, harder, and the rivets nearly popped from their latchings.

Silently, Sideswipe watched it all. The pain was new, and yet also old. Sunstreaker whirled around, staring at Sideswipe with a naked expression, his emotions tumbling from his optics.

"Life _sucks_," Sideswipe whispered, holding his brother's gaze. "Prowl said we could still go this weekend." His voice was quiet. "We need to leave by noon tomorrow."

"Let's leave tonight." Sunstreaker growled. His hands clenched into fists at his side, opening and closing. "Let's just leave. Now."

Sideswipe nodded. "Alright."

* * *

Jazz's processor was wandering again.

His Teletraan monitor faded away, replaced by his processor's rememberings of Soundwave. In his mind, Soundwave was staring at Jazz from his perch by Jazz's bedside in their loft, and then they were sharing a cube of energon as the sun set, casting a gentle gold glow throughout their home. The scene shifted yet again, and Soundwave was pleading with him, telling him to run, to run away from the grove and from his kiss. His lips were quivering, spilling the secrets of his emotions for Jazz to see plain. Then his arm, flopping offline and limp over Long Hauls' side.

Jazz shook his helm, forcing his processor back to the present. He had work to do, slaggit, and he shouldn't be worrying over Soundwave anyway. That was absolute_ last_ thing he needed to be doing, worrying and fretting and wondering and longing after his enemy and captor. He'd already wasted his entire night over the Decepticon. Prowl had been passion personified the night prior, but Jazz hadn't been able to respond, and had finally fallen into a fitful recharge next to a disappointed – but trying to hide it – Prowl, only to online a mere hour later, worries spiking again.

This was _not_ the time. No time was the time, but this especially wasn't. Jazz was back on full duties as of today, officially, though the battle the day prior had sort of made that a moot point. Still, in just over two hours, Jazz had his first Command Staff meeting, and he was presenting his current progress on repairing the security of their human allies that had been breached by the Decepticon attacks, thanks to the breach of his own processor. He hadn't wanted that assignment, but Prowl had gently insisted, telling Jazz that no one blamed him, and that it was good for Jazz to work with others again instead of staying locked in his stubbornly clinging isolation. Jazz had always liked the humans he'd worked with, but at the time, and even still, he didn't want to be around anyone if he had the choice.

Jazz's office doorchime rang, and he stared for too long a moment before calling out for the mech to enter. Prowl swept inside his office, smiling at Jazz as he crossed to his desk.

"Good morning," Prowl said warmly.

"Morning," Jazz answered with a smile. "_Again_." Prowl had woken him with warm kisses to the back of his neck, hot and lingering as his hands wandered over his body. Jazz had rolled in his arms, and as his optics fuzzily onlined, he had half hoped to see Soundwave beside him.

"You'll do great today," Prowl said, holding Jazz's gaze. "We're all excited to have you back on duty."

Jazz smirked, folding his arms across the loose piles of data pads strewn about the surface. "You mean, you're glad to give me back my duties and reclaim your free time."

"You seem to monopolize my time whether it's free or on duty," Prowl quipped, his optics warm. "And I am not complaining in the least."

Jazz looked down, though his smile lingered. It still felt strange to smile, as if he were betraying his memories and longings of his other life. "I still need to pull some things together. I'll see you in there?"

Prowl nodded once, then leaned across his desk and pressed a gentle kiss to Jazz's lips. Prowl was careful to not disturb the clutter strewn across Jazz's desk, and his doorwings flicked up lazily, holding his balance. They separated, and Prowl's gaze was warm as he stared into Jazz's optics.

"Shoo," Jazz whispered. "I have work to do."

"That's my line," Prowl replied, chuckling. Still, he turned and headed toward the door, throwing a fond smile over his shoulder as he headed out.

Jazz watched him go, his gaze lingering on the closed doors as his smile faded. Idly, he wondered what it meant that his spark pulsed harder, stronger, and deeper when he remembered Soundwave, but he refused to speculate any further on that thought. Things were still new with Prowl, and he had to work Soundwave's memories and touches out of his system. That was it.

He just needed to convince his spark.

* * *

Prowl slipped onto the Command Deck and nodded toward Prime, waiting for him at the door to his office. "Jazz?" Prime asked softly.

"He's in his office working on his reports for our meeting," Prowl answered as the two of them stepped into Prime's office. The door slid shut behind them, locking with a hissing seal. Wheeljack turned in his chair, his audial fins brightening in greeting as he waved, and Ratchet frowned from his one-shouldered lean against the far bulkhead.

Ratchet resented this project, and didn't much want to be a part of it at all. Still, he had been forced to acknowledge the inherent danger in this new threat, and in the actual damages they all had fallen victim to, Jazz most especially. In the end, Ratchet's dedication to his friends and the crew won out. But he still didn't have to like it.

Prime sat down at his desk as he waited for Prowl to situate himself, stacking his reports neatly in a small pile at the edge of Prime's desk. Prowl nodded to Prime once he was ready, and Prime fixed his attentions to Ratchet first. "How goes your analysis of Jazz's processor during the attack, Ratchet?"

Ratchet sighed, shifting and grinding his shoulder into the bulkhead. "Slowly," he grumbled. "I'm looking at crashed and virus-laden code. Nothing makes sense. His processor was scrambled, and one system runs right into another. I have to unpack everything first before I can tell if anything was embedded."

"Have you been able to isolate the frequencies Soundwave used to control Jazz's interplex beacon? How he was able to gain control?" Prowl fixed Ratchet with a stern look.

"Not yet." Ratchet shifted, pushing off of the bulkhead as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I've narrowed down a spectrum of activity as definitely _not_ of Jazz's processor, but I haven't been able to pick out what are systems, what's comms, and what might be the markers of Soundwave's telepathy."

Prime nodded as Ratchet spoke. "Keep working on it, Ratchet. We need to get this information isolated quickly." Ratchet nodded, silent and scowling. Prime's attention shifted to Wheeljack. "Do you have any ideas on what sort of countermeasures to develop?"

Wheeljack's audial fins brightened. "Countermeasures aren't going to be that easy. Jazz was hacked through his interplex beacon and down into his core processor. Those are already heavily guarded systems, and shoring them up any further would create dangerous blocks against medical care and potentially lagging interference with the quantum networking of Teletraan."

"What can we do?" Prowl asked, a frown creasing his features. "We cannot let this vulnerability continue to persist."

Wheeljack nodded, holding Prowl's gaze. "I've had more luck fashioning a weapon than I have any sort of defense."

Silence stretched out in the office. "What kind of weapon?" Prime asked quietly.

"It's still in the theoretical stages," Wheeljack explained. "But we've only got one Soundwave, one mech that can do this kind of attack. If we take him out, the problem is resolved. The trick is taking him out through these systems, so that no Decepticon will know until it's too late."

Prowl inhaled, his helm lifting as he listened to Wheeljack's explanation. His spark swelled, distorted excitement and desire surging at the potentiality Wheeljack suggested. Soundwave, offlined permanently. _That_ was what he wanted.

"This may all be a moot point," Ratchet grumbled from behind Wheeljack. "Soundwave took a nasty hit from one of us yesterday. We may not have to worry about him for a while."

"We'll always have to worry about this, Ratchet," Prowl snapped, a bit too harshly.

"Who fired that shot, anyway?" Wheeljack asked, turning to look at Prowl. He'd been on the Command Deck and not at the battle, and Ratchet had been nearer to the rear than to the front lines. "Was it Bluestreak?"

Prowl shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling, though his doorwings remained stiff behind his back, arching away from his body. "I wasn't watching everyone at that time." He chose his words carefully.

"Slagging good shot, from what I hear," Wheeljack said, nodding as his audial fins flashed. Ratchet snorted behind him, folding his arms.

"Time check," Prime tossed a questioning look toward Prowl.

"We have 20 minutes until the Command Staff meeting."

Prime nodded. "Let's get to the wardroom. I do not need to remind you that this entire project is classified, as is all work associated with it. No one can know – especially not Jazz." Prime glance around his office as every mech nodded. "Now, let's go welcome Jazz back on duty." His tone shifted, suddenly full of warmth and pride and gentle consideration for his officer. Wheeljack's audial fins brightened, and even Ratchet smiled. Prowl nodded as well, meeting Prime's knowing gaze.

* * *

When Jazz finally walked into the _Ark's_ wardroom for his first Command Staff meeting back on official duties, the entire staff rose, standing in a show of solidarity and respect for their fellow officer. All helms turned toward him, smiles and happy optics welcoming him back to the world of their normal, busy reality. Jazz froze, taking it all in.

"Welcome back, Jazz," Prime rumbled from the far side of the room, standing at the head of the table. "We've all missed you."

Jazz smiled shyly, ducking his helm. It was overwhelming, all the officers staring at him and smiling and welcoming him back, especially when he wasn't all that certain he truly wanted to be back. Silent, he nodded to everyone and took his place at the table next to Prowl.

Prowl beamed at him, his smile and optics full of warm pride.

"Thanks, everyone," Jazz finally grunted, glancing around the table. Even Ratchet was smiling, and Wheeljack was leaning forward, his elbows folded on the table as his audial fins flashed. "I really appreciate all the support. Really." Jazz nodded and tried to smile. He shifted, growing steadily more uncomfortable with the stares as the astroseconds ticked by.

"Now that our first order of business is out of the way," Prime called out, his voice firm and yet still warm. His optics pierced into Jazz. "Let's get on with our orders and actions. Ratchet, if you will start us?"

Jazz fractionally relaxed as the meeting got underway, the different divisions and officers presenting their weekly status reports to Prime. Prowl's hand dipped below the table and reached for Jazz's elbow, gently pressing his fingers to Jazz in a brief squeeze of support and reassurance.

Instead of the anticipated surge of gratitude at Prowl's show of support, Jazz's processor called up the memory of Soundwave, holding his hand beneath their table in their home on Cybertron. He exhaled, cringing at the pull of his spark toward the memory. A spike of worry and clenching fear followed. Was Soundwave alright?

Ratchet finished his report on the level of supplies currently in stores – good – the health and functionality of the crew – good – and the readiness of the medical staff for any unexpected events – again, good. Wheeljack took over, running through a quick summation of present projects in the engineering division, including Hoist and Grapple's repair works to the _Ark_ and his own rewiring of the mainframe. Wheeljack carefully avoided any mention of his other project, or of Soundwave. Ironhide spoke, relating the status of the crew and the squads, and commending several mechs for excellence in the battle of yesterday, though he couldn't name the mech who had shot Soundwave. He hadn't been looking in that direction at the time.

Finally, it was Jazz's turn. He sighed as he stared down, shuffling his pads before he found the right one. He spoke quickly, detached about the work he had been able to accomplish with the humans in repairing their damaged networks and security infrastructures from the Deception's attacks.

Prowl took over, briefing the staff on the accumulated intelligence gathering of the week and the current power rationing on the _Ark_. He led them through a quick after-action review of the battle the day before, but downplayed the battle's sudden ending with the shot to Soundwave. As Ironhide began to chuckle about how Soundwave had fallen to the ground, a stunned look flashing across his optics, Prowl harshly cut his joking off. "It doesn't matter how they retreated, Ironhide," Prowl snapped. "Only that they did." Prowl's gaze flicked to Jazz, and to the twisted, frowning expression he wore.

Prime finally closed out the meeting, providing a few directions to the different divisions for the next week, and then it was over. Everyone stood to leave, and before Prowl could turn to Jazz and ask if he was alright, Prime's hand fell on Prowl's shoulder. "A word in private, Prowl?"

Prowl turned to Prime, nodding. "Of course."

By the time he turned back to Jazz, he was already gone.

* * *

Jazz's thoughts were completely consumed with Soundwave.

It wasn't that his processor was wandering; all he could think of, all he could worry over, all he could process at all were thoughts and memories of Soundwave. Ironhide's dramatic reenactment and ribbing in the meeting of Soundwave's horrified reaction to being shot had been a spike of rage, jabbing straight through Jazz's spark. Tendrils of fear, of anger, and of gear-stopping panic were now freely surging throughout his body. What was an underlying anxiety that he struggled to beat back each day had exploded, and had been given free rein to consume his feelings. His spike of fear over Soundwave's injuries was rounding up all his conflicted emotions toward and sharpening them to a keen, fine point.

He huffed, frustrated with himself. This wasn't how he should be acting. Jazz groaned, offlining his optics and pitching forward, collapsing on his desk. He fell into the mess of data pads, and his forehelm hit the surface of his desk with a small thunk.

His visor onlined suddenly, and his helm rolled to the side as he stared down his Teletraan monitor. A wild thought danced through his processor. On the _Ark_, communications were controlled and the channels monitored for any Decepticon markers and possible spy jobs. Security was maintained by Red Alert, hands down their most paranoid, disagreeable mech, but even Red Alert had nothing on the paranoia and duplicity possible within a Decepticon's processor. Red Alert tried, but many times the Decepticons were able to find new and improved means to circumnavigate his clever security procedures. What had happened to Jazz was just one example.

But so was Laserbeak. The cassette sneaked into the _Ark_ too many times, and most recently only a few weeks ago, following Jazz. Soundwave was out there still, and as the Decepticon Communications Officer, he had to have the most sophisticated sort of monitoring capabilities available to any paranoid, intelligence-gathering mech.

Jazz would try something innocuous, something innocent, something that he could try again, sporadically, until he managed to find out if Soundwave was alright. It was just a means to understand his functioning, he told himself. It was only something to gain his own intelligence against the mech back. Or so he told himself.

Jazz configured a ridealong channel, a carrier burst to an outgoing communications frequency. He embedded a message, wrapped around his identity code, and pushed it out of the _Ark_ through embedded channels. The effect of the message's construction, when, or if, discovered, would be as if Jazz himself were suddenly within the mech's processor, asking the question himself.

The only thing Jazz stumbled over was what to say to Soundwave. In the end, he decided on short and simple.

He stared at his terminal for several long moments, not knowing what he was expecting. He forced himself to turn away, to return to his real life, his real duties, and his reality on the _Ark_. Jazz set up his terminal to scan the frequency he had transmitted on for any message or data burst that had the construction of a ridealong channel. He scoffed at himself. He was being ridiculous.

Just as he turned away, his terminal beeped, high pitched and angry.

Jazz whirled around, staring at his monitor. Jazz seized upon the message.

"Are you alright?" had been his simple question, wrapped around his identity code. It was a deniable message, one he could write off for a million different reasons if caught. But, if Soundwave had received it, he could return the comm. He could - if he wanted to - contact Jazz.

And Soundwave had responded. A similar message, wrapped around the ident code of Soundwave, unraveled itself from the ridealong channel and a burst of flowing data. For a moment, Jazz was filled with the feeling of Soundwave, with the power and strength of the larger mech, and of the rare sensitivity he had glimpsed within his spark.

"Affirmative." Short and simple, and devastatingly profound. Jazz exhaled explosively, releasing the tense worry and knotted anxiety that was locked within his spark. Soundwave was alright. He was online.

Still, above and beyond the banishment of Jazz's panicked feelings over Soundwave's health, a deeper profundity now lay exposed. They were able to _communicate _with one another.

Why hadn't he thought of this before? Jazz hurriedly encoded a response and pushed it back. "Are you functioning alright?"

He waited, his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm against his desktop surface. All thoughts of his duties were forgotten.

His terminal beeped. "Regaining full functionality. Injuries treated the day prior."

Jazz sighed again, nodding. _Thank Primus,_ he thought, feeling the gratitude and relief to the depth of his spark. He swallowed, his fingers hesitating over his next message. Hopes and fears raced throughout his processor, dropping down to his spark for a round with his soul before zipping back up to worry over his mind.

"Are you able to travel?" Jazz pushed his message out before he could second guess himself.

"Affirmative."

Jazz swallowed, his spark pulsing nearly out of his chest as he transmitted his next message. "Meet me in that grove?"

"Affirmative. Two hours from now."

Jazz stared at his terminal screen, holding his breath. He really was going to do this. He was going to see Soundwave again. He was going to meet him. He was going to get some answers, finally. Jazz erased every message, banishing all the communications logs and his ridealong channel.

He stood and backed away from his desk, his optics and visor still pulsing overbright, and headed straight out of his office. He didn't stop moving as he headed down the corridor, and after turning toward the main entrance, jogged down the _Ark's_ main tunnel. Jazz logged himself out of Teletraan and sent a short burst to the mech at comms - Cliffjumper, as it turned out - before dropping down into his alt mode and screaming out of the _Ark_ at top speed. Sand sprayed behind his tires in a wide, messy arches, and he fishtailed as he gunned away from the ship.

No one protested his leaving, and no one paid him any mind.

* * *

Soundwave's spark was pulsing, nervous and screaming in alternating waves. He swallowed, pushing his rising panic down as he limped down the _Nemesis's_ corridor. His hip strut had been shattered, and Hook had had to replace the entire strut from thigh to backstrut. It was stiff and sore, and his movements were likewise stilted until the new part broke itself in. Soundwave hated it.

Ravage padded along beside him, refusing to leave. He and Laserbeak had been everpresent since the incident with Jazz, but after getting shot, they refused to leave his side for even a moment. Laserbeak hovered overhead, silently moving down the corridor.

Finally, Soundwave paused outside the _Nemesis's_ mess. He steeled himself, inhaling as he forced back a wave of frustrated irritation. Reaching out, he slapped at the palm pad with too much force. The doors slid opened to a raucous scene. Braying laughter grated over his audials, and an energon cube flew through the air. Few helms whipped over to glare at Soundwave. Most mechs ignored him.

Soundwave stared over the crowd, the assembled mechs gathered for their energon ration and a rare moment of relaxation. Thundercracker met his searching gaze with a curious look, and Soundwave twisted his helm, motioning for Thundercracker to join him in the hallway. He watched Thundercracker excuse himself from the table with his trine, Skywarp loudly protesting and arguing with an equally vehement Starscream. They didn't notice his absence.

Finally, Thundercracker escaped the mess. Soundwave stared him down, his hands clenched into nervous fists at his side, his visor pulsing overbright.

"Soundwave? What is it?" Thundercracker frowned. "Are you in pain?" The Constructicons were not known for their pain management.

"Negative," Soundwave droned. He swallowed, then forced himself to speak. "Favour requested," he said softly.

* * *

Jazz ducked down out of sight, dropping low behind a large redwood trunk as the scream of jet engines sounded overhead. His spark plummeted. Was it a trap? Was everything a lie? Was he just supremely stupid? The jet's engines grew louder as the Seeker dropped down to the ground. Jazz waited, hoping against his own stupidity.

The Seeker landed, and Jazz heard the sound of his canopy open, and then a transformation, but oddly enough, the Seeker's engines continued whining. He lost the sound of the transformation after only a moment as the Seeker rose, disappearing into the sky. Jazz frowned.

Footsteps sounded, moving into the grove. Jazz's visor flared as he took in the sight of Soundwave, standing awkwardly in the middle of the empty grove and looking around, seemingly lost. Jazz's optics roamed over his body, drinking in the sight. Soundwave turned, looking for Jazz, and Jazz's spark clenched as he spotted his painful limp.

Slowly, Jazz pushed himself from his hiding spot behind the redwood and stepped into the grove. Soundwave froze, his helm whipping around, and the two mechs stared into each others optics for a long, silent moment. Emotions warred within both of their sparks, anxiety and fierce, terrified, longing, and a gulf of fear widened between them both.

"Are you alright?" Jazz grunted. He cringed at his question.

Soundwave nodded.

"Who was that?"

"Thundercracker." Soundwave's voice was low, and soft.

"Thundercracker?" Jazz frowned. Thundercracker's sneer replayed in Jazz's processor. He swallowed, looking away.

"Thundercracker: a friend." Soundwave spoke slowly, as if speaking the words for the first time. "Actions toward you: not of his choosing."

"But he still did it," Jazz protested. Soundwave didn't respond, and the silence grew between them once more, nearly impenetrable.

How could someone have such a pull toward something so unknown, so foreign, so utterly impenetrable? Jazz's spark gave a frustrated wail, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The distance between them was seemingly insurmountable, and all Jazz wanted to do was race over to Soundwave and just turn back time a little bit.

Of course, that was an impossibility.

Jazz had to start somehow, somewhere. He stepped forward. Soundwave started, inhaling as he stared at Jazz. Jazz held his gaze. "Who are you?"

Soundwave frowned, his optics darkening too-deep. Jazz pressed forward. "Who are you, really? I need to know. I _want_ to know. I want to know _you_."

Soundwave's optics flashed as Jazz's continued, and he looked away. "Information: not desirable." Soundwave shook his helm. "Personal history: not pleasant."

"I still want to know," Jazz said softly. "I have to know who you are." He needed to know who his spark was screaming for, why he was yearning for this mech with all of his being.

Soundwave was keenly aware of every inch of distance separating them. The darkness within his soul widened, trying to swallow him down. Why would Jazz want to know who he was, what he was? What he was was a nightmare, and who he was was a nobody. The only meaning in his entire life had been this struggle for freedom and the Decepticons.

Except, for those moments of peace he'd felt with Jazz, the surety and quietness of his mind and soul as he held him gently.

_What he was_, he thought ruefully, _was a mess._

"Soundwave:," he began slowly, not looking at Jazz. "Decepticon Communications officer. Originally of Kaon. Former slave." Soundwave's vocalizer rumbled, his voice growling over words he hadn't ever spoken aloud. "No family. No friends. Only work. And _pain_." Static spat from his vocalizer. "Everything won and controlled within life." Soundwave raised his hands, holding them out for Jazz to see. "_My own."_

Jazz exhaled. He'd never known anything about Soundwave's past before the Decepticons, and he hadn't even begun to speculate on what had formed the turbulent, tumultuous history of the mech he'd come to desire. "Why me?" Jazz whispered, stepping closer to Soundwave. They were only an arm's length away from each other now, staring into each other's optics. "What is this? Intelligence? _Control?_ What do you want from me?"

Soundwave's visor flared, and he shook his helm. "Negative," he said. He stared at Jazz, his optics flickering over the lines and planes of Jazz's face, taking in his beauty, confusion, and pain. His spark flared. "Jazz: contains peace and joy within his spark." Slowly, Soundwave's hand rose, and he rested his palm on Jazz's chest, directly over his spark. Soundwave's optics surged beneath his visor, and his blast mask retracted as he gasped. His mouth betrayed him, lips trembling with pain and fear. Soundwave looked down.

"What?" Jazz scoffed. "What does that mean?"

"Jazz: beautiful," Soundwave whispered. "Outside and in." It was the deepest beauty he'd ever seen, the fiercest cling to joyful life he'd ever witnessed, and an entirely new way to see the entire universe. Seeing reality through Jazz's behavior, his emotions, his refusal to bow to life's tragedies, had been a bathing light of wonder to his spark and soul. "Jazz: exemplifies hope and resiliency. Previously foreign concepts."

The feel of Soundwave's hand against his chestplates burned Jazz's very being. "Soundwave, I am just a _mech._" He didn't know how to react to this, the revelation that he was held at the center of Soundwave's soul.

"Yes." Soundwave nodded, and his lips quirked faintly, an almost-smile peeking through. "An _alive_ mech. All previous definitions: void." Soundwave's hand drifted down, falling back to his side, and revealing Jazz's Autobot emblem. The harsh red icon was etched into his plating, stark and bold. Soundwave's optics fixed to the sigil.

"Why did you join the Decepticons?" Jazz asked after a moment, staring at Soundwave's purple sigil etched into the glass on his chest.

Soundwave met his gaze, his lips thinning as he frowned. "Only viable option," he growled. "Cybertron Parliament: the enemy." His voice grew sharp as he spoke. "Decepticons: rose as revolutionaries, seizing freedom."

"But the Autobots rose as well. We were _also_ a revolution," Jazz insisted. "Parliament was wrong, yes, and we both rose up against them."

Soundwave was silent for a long moment. The darkness within his spark screamed, roaring out of his soul as he stroked over the root of his nightmare. "Fighting for ideals and philosophies: different than fighting for your life," Soundwave said slowly. His optics burned.

"But we had the same goal!" Jazz cried out. "I wasn't a slave and I never had to suffer through Kaon. But I _knew_ what happened there, and I _fought_ against that. We all did!" Jazz frowned. "We both fought against Parliament, and look where we are now? Still fighting each other. We had the same goal."

Slowly, Soundwave shook his helm. They never had the same goal. "Autobots: desired to replace Parliament with new dominion. Prime," Soundwave sneered, the name falling from his lips with derision. "The Chosen One." His lips twisted. "Designed to enslave: keep freedom from all."

"That's not true," Jazz seethed. "Optimus Prime _is_ the Chosen One. He bears the Matrix. He's touched by Primus. Or do you not believe?"

Soundwave's visor flared. "Belief in Primus: certain."

"Prime would have ended everything. He wasn't trying to enslave you. He would have granted you your freedoms."

"Freedom: cannot be granted," Soundwave growled. "Freedom: seized! Freedom: from strength!" He heaved a shaking breath, trying to control his wildly surging emotions. "Decepticons: first opportunity available to take control. Each moment: our own. Each choice: our own. Freedom," Soundwave's hands stretched out before him once again. "Our own."

"Does Megatron truly bring you freedom?"

Soundwave hesitated. "Megatron: represents an opportunity," Soundwave said softly. "Opportunity to remake the past. Opportunity to be strong. Opportunity for change." They had changed their entire world, the entire face of it, though things had spiraled out of control in a rapid way. Soundwave's spark mourned the dead hulk of his planet, spinning in silence in the coldness of space, alone.

Jazz shook his helm, his hands rising to rest on his hip. "Without Megatron, this war could have ended," he said.

"Without Prime: war could have ended," Soundwave retorted. "Prime: not attempted to end the war."

Jazz stared, tilting his helm to the side as he stared at Soundwave, trying to see into his soul. "We're fighting for the same thing, you know," he whispered.

Soundwave shook his helm. "Decepticons fight for absolutes: Truth. Freedom. Cybertron. Autobots: fight for peace. At what cost?"

"And what is truth?" Jazz whispered, his face twisting. Truth, as he had found, was a mercurial bastard, elusive and fleetingly frustrating.

Soundwave risked everything by stepping closer to Jazz. "Truth: unknown," he whispered. One hand rose, fingers stretching out to graze over Jazz's forearm. "Truth: felt in you. In this." His optics burned into Jazz's.

"Is that what that world was about?" Jazz didn't move away from Soundwave's fleeting touches. "That reality. The telepathy. Was that your version of truth?"

Soundwave winced, and his fingers drew up Jazz's arm to his elbow, slowly, as if in apology. "Only one truth: no 'versions' of truth," Soundwave mumbled. "That world was _free_. Free to live. Free to feel. Free to be." Soundwave's gaze pleaded into Jazz's. "Free to love."

"It wasn't free to me," Jazz whispered, his optics burning.

Soundwave sighed, his lips pressing together. His hand dropped from Jazz's warm plating, falling to his side sadly. "That _I_ was a good mech: never claimed," Soundwave whispered, his voice rough-hewn and ragged. He never used the personal pronoun, not ever; it was too personal, but then again, so was this. "Tried to save you. Tried to shelter you. Tried to bring you happiness." He looked down, casting his gaze away. "Tried to do what I could." It had all been for naught, in the end.

Silence.

"I _was_ happy, you know," Jazz finally whispered. His hand stretched out, and he tangled his fingers within Soundwave's. "I've been so angry because I wanted that _back_."

Soundwave stared at their joined hands, their tangled fingers. His lips parted silently. His spark was suddenly bared in all of its fullness. "Only attempting to make the situation agreeable to you. Peace found… emotions felt…" Soundwave shook his helm. "Unanticipated." He'd nurtured a quiet obsession over Jazz for a time, but the obscure, profound wonder he'd felt through personally loving him had deeply unseated the tenets of his soul.

Jazz smiled faintly, the first smile he'd cracked during their exchange. "Primus only knows why I've fallen for you as well." His spark was calling out for Soundwave, the parts and pieces of his soul stretching out to him. It wasn't the dark plating, the tortured gaze, the hulking mass of power. It wasn't that Soundwave needed Jazz, or desired him with every fiber of his being. All those things would continue on without Jazz. Soundwave would go on without him.

Instead, it was the indefinable shift within Jazz, the resounding of his spark, the yearning, and the tingling rememberings of joy he felt around Soundwave, or around the thoughts and memories of him. They were so _different_, so entirely different, but could truth exist somewhere between them?

Thundercracker's words echoed throughout Soundwave's helm. Cybertron, the planet of his home, the place of his longing, was hanging in space, cold and offline, and here he was, exiled on a backcircuit planet and waging war over resources, instead over their ideals. Thundercracker's passion, his flaming optics, pierced through Soundwave's memory. Where had the choice been, in this course of action? Where had his freedom been, when these choices were made? Where had their spark-deep purpose gone?

Given the choice, would he choose to freely be here on Earth, warring against Prime and his Autobots? Or would he be pouring his efforts into reenergizing Cybertron, working to bring back the world they had destroyed with all the good intentions of their cleansing need for retribution?

Megatron's face forced its way into his processor. Earth was bursting with raw energy, with organic potential to be harnessed and converted to their needs. They had stalked the Autobots across space and time to this world, and Megatron had decreed it a Primus blessing, and that this would be their new dominion, taken from the Autobots.

The war raged. Instead of focusing on their energon needs, instead of solely working toward reenergizing their planet, here they were, locked in bitter struggles with the Autobots over pride and a ball of mud.

Soundwave stared at his and Jazz's joined hands, then up to Jazz's Autobot sigil. The darkness within him opened once more, the hollow scream always present in his spark unleashing its tortured cry.

Soundwave had spent his entire life striving for his freedom, wrenching it to him with the raw strength of his two hands and the power of his spark. He had grasped it and never, ever let it go… or so he had thought. His struggle for freedom had led him to war, which had led him to Jazz, and now, he was entirely and utterly enslaved to this _need_, this desire, this wholly encompassing yearning for his spark's peace and for all that was Jazz. Jazz's faction sigil was an insult to his love for Jazz, and it only highlighted the chasm split between them. The war stretched on, raging all around.

Had either of them had freely chosen to be here, on this world, on Earth, or raging against one another.

How free were they, either of them, if they could not love one another?

Soundwave's soul shifted uneasily. His spark sputtered. Hope, a fleeting, fickle emotion, fled.

"What now?" Jazz asked, staring at Soundwave. He'd watched the play of emotions through Soundwave's optics. "We care for each other, but too bad, so sad?"

Soundwave grimaced. He shook his helm. "Cannot be the course. Too much shared. Desire for Cybertron. Frustrations." Soundwave frowned again. "Hope."

Jazz sighed. "Hope seems pretty thin right now. How can this war ever end? Megatron won't stop, and neither will Prime. Starscream..." He shook his helm.

Jazz was suddenly _tired_ of it all. Tired of _everything_, of the war, of the fighting, of the pain, of the stress, of seeing his friends fight and fall in battle, of feeling that rush of fear, of anxiety, and soul clawing nerves, and the scratch of terror and bravery racing in equal measures throughout his lines. He was tired of it _all_. "That world you made? Cybertron?" Jazz grunted. "Nothing but a memory and a fairy tale, now."

"Negative," Soundwave said quickly. He squeezed down on Jazz's hand, pulling him close. Jazz stumbled, but allowed the tug. One of Soundwave's hands dropped to his hip, gently holding Jazz in a loose hold. "Cybertron: will be brought back online."

Soundwave's goal within his life had always been to live freely on Cybertron. That had never changed; only the meandering path he'd been led on had shifted away from that end. It was up to Soundwave to correct the means, to bring his personal path back in line with his purpose: _freedom_.

Jazz frowned. His free hand rose, resting on Soundwave's glass and stretching over the purple Decepticon sigil. "We don't even know if we can reenergize our planet."

"We will," Soundwave insisted, his voice rumbling and deep. He squeezed with both of his hands, tightening his grip on Jazz's.

If his purpose had shifted back to his original goals, back to freedom and a whole Cybertron, then what of the war? What of this dereliction on this planet, this raging inferno between Prime and Megatron? How was Soundwave meant to reconcile his choices and his dedication to the Decepticons with his urge to join Thundercracker in their push to return home? How could Soundwave turn away from the sum of his life in the Decepticons and go against the forces that had won their freedom from everything tyrannical of the past?

How could he remain, caught in an impossible war of attrition while their home spun in cold space? How could he be free, truly free, if he wasn't able to pursue his spark's desire? How free was he, locked on Earth, fighting Megatron's personal grudge match with Prime and the Autobots?

How could Soundwave fight Jazz?

Jazz surprised Soundwave. "I don't want to fight you anymore," Jazz whispered, his admission painful and grating, physically dragged from his vocalizer. Jazz shook his helm. "I don't even think I can." He understood Soundwave too much now; he wasn't a shadowed mech any longer, wasn't merely a dark force and a sigiled enemy. He was a _mech_, one with history and feelings and urges and yearnings. One with _hope_. One with more hope than perhaps Jazz. He was also a mech who _loved_, and who loved Jazz, and though Jazz wasn't ready to declare his emotions for Soundwave just yet, he knew they were far more complex than mere fleeting feelings of passion.

Soundwave exhaled painfully, resting his helm against Jazz's. Both of their optics dimmed behind their visors, and their fingers squeezed tight. How were they meant to fight against this? And yet, in the same breath, how were they meant to turn their backs upon their friends and comrades?

"I will not fight you," Soundwave breathed, his voice shaking. His emotions were raging, and the deeply personal pronoun was inescapable. "Jazz: will be protected." His optics surged.

Jazz pulled back. "What are you trying to say?" he whispered.

"Proposal: protection of each other. Share information to engineer future outcomes of war."

Jazz stepped away and dropped Soundwave's hand. "This is just a new attempt to gain information from me!"

"Negative!" Soundwave breathed, stepping forward. "Mirage: electro-disrupter frequency known. How you were tracked on your mission." He offered his information freely, trying to give of himself to Jazz to prove what he could.

Jazz's optics flared and his mouth dropped open soundlessly. Their optics fixed, holding each other's gaze with pleading passion and soul-deep longing.

Jazz's comm crackled to life, startling the quiet intensity of the grove. _"Prowl to Jazz."_

Jazz gasped, twisting away from Soundwave as he responded. "Jazz here."

"_Where are you?"_ Prowl asked. "_You're off the _Ark. _Everything alright?"_ His words carried a faint undercurrent of worry, tense and anxious.

Soundwave straightened, stiffening at the sound of Prowl's voice. His blast mask snapped shut, his emotional vulnerability suddenly erased, his openness closed off. He stood awkwardly, his hands clenched at his side, nervous.

Jazz turned back toward Soundwave, plaintive. "I'm fine," Jazz choked back to Prowl.

"_Alright,"_ Prowl said after a short pause. _"Are you heading back soon?"_

"Yeah, I am." Jazz looked down, staring at the dirt.

"_Great,"_ Prowl said, relief clearly evident. _"I have something to show you later tonight." _Jazz could hear his smile.

"Sounds great!" Jazz forced out. "I'll see you in a bit." He closed the line quickly.

"You must return," Soundwave stated, his voice stiff and awkward. Jazz nodded, trying to swallow past the sticking gears in his throat. "Jazz," Soundwave began, anxiety suddenly flaring from his entire being. "We will meet again?" Hope, buried beneath walls and closed off emotions and all the cracks of his control, slipped through his voice.

Slowly, Jazz nodded. He could _never_ be free of this, not as long as he lived. Something within him was calling to Soundwave, and no matter how much he tried to push it away, argue it out of existence, or bury his spark, nothing was extinguishing this pull.

He wasn't sure any longer if he wanted to be free of it either.

"We will," Jazz choked. "Here," he said, moving back to Soundwave's side. "This is my beacon's new ident code and password. You can comm me directly." He pushed the information across an uplink, and for a split second, caught in the middle of the transmission, he felt _everything_ of Soundwave once more. Jazz gasped, weakening. All he wanted to do suddenly was collapse into the feeling of Soundwave, into the one mech who simultaneously steadied and unseated his soul.

Soundwave pushed back his own beacon code, feeling the flood of Jazz invade his body. It was as if lightness and energy suffused his circuits, invading. He welcomed the invasion, his optics dimming with the faintly remembered feelings of peace.

All too soon, Jazz broke the uplink and stepped back, re-centering himself away from Soundwave. He'd almost weakened, almost kissed Soundwave again. He needed to not short-circuit the responsibility he had to himself to understand his spark by throwing himself at this near-overwhelming need. He inhaled shakily, his body's circuits wound up too tight, too hot, bothered by the pull of Soundwave.

"I'll see you soon," Jazz whispered, backing away. His hand lingered on Soundwave's arm.

Soundwave watched him go, refusing to turn away. Finally, Jazz reached the edge of the grove, and he ducked out of the sheltering embrace of the redwoods, their private reality within the crazy world swirling around them both.

Soundwave watched him go, feeling the pull of his spark drag after him.

* * *

Jazz shifted uncomfortably on Prowl's couch, listening to the pounding operatic music Prowl had surprised him with. Prowl had procured so many CD's, but it seemed like each one of them was less and less of Jazz's actual taste. Then again, his taste had shifted dramatically; nothing could ever match the pure beauty of his duet with Soundwave. He felt his thoughts drifting back to Soundwave for an innumerable time that evening, and he forced his processor to ruthlessly shut down.

His spark, however, continued its own philosophizing on the subject of Soundwave.

Prowl had been waiting for him after shift, ready with a cube and a smile and asking about his day. Jazz had fibbed, telling Prowl he'd been on a long, processor-clearing drive, instead of admitting he had mired his processor in confusion and consequence with Soundwave.

Prowl eagerly supported Jazz's quiet claim that he needed more time and space to continue putting everything to rights. He'd suggested Jazz keep up the long drives.

From there, they retired to Prowl's quarters, and Prowl sprang his new music collection on Jazz. They had dived in, listening to track after track, though the music only allowed Jazz's mind to wander.

"You're warm," Prowl murmured into his audial. Jazz hadn't fully calmed down from the charge Soundwave had created within his circuits. Jazz could not deny the pure desire he felt toward the Decepticon.

Jazz heaved himself up and turned off the music. "Hey there, sexy," Jazz purred, stroking his hands down Prowl's helm. Prowl's hands rose, clinging to him, and their kiss turned deeply passionate in a fast hurry.

Not long after that, Jazz found himself in Prowl's berth, moving together. Jazz gasped as Prowl's angle shifted, and he rolled his helm against Prowl's shoulder, his optics falling offline. His hands fell to Prowl's, his fingers linking within his grasp. Prowl shifted, claiming Jazz as his once more.

Soundwave's face flashed in Jazz's mind, and his processor replayed the feeling of his body pressed tight, the touch of his hand, and the taste of his kiss. Jazz forced Soundwave's name off his lips. He twisted, crumpling within Prowl's arms as his body burned.

Prowl nuzzled the back of Jazz's neck. "Jazz…" Prowl whispered, pressing a kiss to the base of his helm. "I'm so proud of you."

Jazz's optics onlined in the darkness of Prowl's quarters. He wasn't sure proud was the word to describe his actions any longer.

* * *

"Soundwave?" Thundercracker's questioning voice finally pierced Soundwave's distracted, wandering processor.

"Query?" Soundwave intoned, drawing back to the present. He took in the sudden change of his surroundings: Thundercracker was no longer flying through the night sky, and the cockpit cover of his alt mode had been lifted up, waiting for Soundwave to transform and disembark. They were back on the _Nemesis._

Thundercracker chuckled. "We've been back for a few minutes, Soundwave," he said. No one else was on the hangar deck. "Processor stuck on a certain mech?" His voice was teasing.

Soundwave transformed, bristling with embarrassment. He turned to Thundercracker as the Seeker transformed, but when Thundercracker grinned, all of Soundwave's indignation vanished. Thundercracker was smiling at him, warm and good naturedly. Soundwave's spark gave an uncertain lurch, unaccustomed to friendship.

Instead of snapping, he fixed Thundercracker with a firm stare and pivoted slowly, pinning Thundercracker with his gaze until he turned around and strode off the deck.

Thundercracker chuckled, shaking his helm, and jogged to catch up with Soundwave. At the hangar doors, Ravage and Laserbeak waited. The four moved together through the _Nemesis's_ corridors toward the mess, low voices carrying between them in gentle conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Fracture Mechanics 9**

* * *

Jazz glanced over his shoulder, peering through the scattered ferns around what he now considered his and Soundwave's personal grove. No one had followed him. No one ever did.

Soot from the battle still clung to his frame, scattered across his shoulder. The Decepticon attack on the electrical grid's main switch for the Pacific northwest had been a surprise, and they'd all barreled out of the _Ark_ to respond. The Decepticons were siphoning electrons away from the cities, but they were only too eager to turn and run when the Autobots showed up. It had been a simple raid, just a raid for energy, but it had been a complete surprise, and Jazz wasn't used to surprise Decepticon attacks anymore.

Soundwave stood in the grove, his visor dim. It brightened as Jazz pushed his way past the last redwood, striding across the small clearing to stand before Soundwave.

"What the slag was that?" Jazz frowned, his hands on his hips. "You didn't warn me about that."

"Battle: a surprise," Soundwave droned, sounding more drained than usual. "Energon reserves: low."

Jazz's optics moved over Soundwave. He took in the dim visor, Soundwave's slight slouch, and the faded look to his paint. Jazz had been meeting Soundwave in secret for weeks now, and he had never seen Soundwave looking so run down. "Are you alright?" His entire mood shifted.

Soundwave looked away. "Energon reserves: low," he repeated, his vocalizer rumbling.

"How low?" Jazz asked.

"Low enough for desperate attacks," Soundwave droned. His optics met Jazz's and held, the strength he clung to so fiercely surging from his gaze.

Jazz nodded slowly before he reached into his subspace. Word of the Decepticon attack had come early that morning, just as Jazz was taking in his morning ration. He'd subspaced it, and he reached for it now, handing it to Soundwave.

Soundwave stared at the proffered cube, his gaze hardening. "Pity:" he rumbled, "not desired."

"It's not pity." Jazz sighed. He thought he'd learned a lot about Soundwave, but there was always more to learn, especially about his unquenchable pride. He held the cube out to Soundwave again. "It's selfish," he said. "I want you alive."

Soundwave stared, not moving. His fierce pride coiled tight, determined to never waver, to never accept pity or raw help from another. His optics darted to the cube, roving over the swirling energon. Slowly, Soundwave reached for the cube. It wasn't pity, he reminded himself. He would do the same for Jazz, in a sparkpulse. Almost too quickly, he retracted his blastmask and gulped down the warm, slippery energon in a quick rush.

All too soon, he stopped. He saved half of what Jazz had given him and subspaced the cube.

Jazz frowned. "Why don't you drink it all?"

"Thundercracker: requires energon," Soundwave rumbled. His one unasked-for friend was still flying him out to these rendezvous with Jazz, and without that uncommon gift, Soundwave wouldn't have this in his life. Soundwave struggled with the inequity of their arrangement. Thundercracker shuttled him back and forth to these rendezvous, and all that transpired was that Thundercracker gained valuable, damning information on Soundwave's personal life and proclivities. He could betray him at any turn, and the information sat unsteady in Soundwave's processor. Eventually, Soundwave discovered that Thundercracker was getting something out of Soundwave's rendezvous with Jazz: escape.

Inhaling, Jazz nodded. "I'll bring him a cube next time," he said softly. He swallowed, looking away. It was so easy to say, that he'd bring energon to the enemy. It was so easy to provide the active assistance and support to the Decepticons.

But not _just_ Decepticons. Not anymore.

He turned to Soundwave, his hands on his hips. "Other than low energon, are you alright? No one's suspicious?"

"Status and condition: within acceptable range. Decepticons: too focused on energon situation for suspicions.

Jazz shuffled his feet in the dirt. "That's good," he said, his voice quiet. "Well, not the energon shortage, I mean."

"Suspicions aroused in Autobot faction?" Soundwave ignored Jazz's fumbling.

Jazz shook his helm. "No. I've managed to avoid any questions."

This time, Soundwave nodded, and silence descended over the pair. They'd been meeting in secret for weeks now, sharing tidbits of information and intelligence on their factions, strengths, and strategies. Each battle found them trying to warn the other in advance through their private, scrambled comm channels, routed through proxies and hidden caches before finally making their way to each others comm beacons. Each conflict was spark-achingly stressful, fervently watching each others every move.

The only moments of solace had been in their secretive meetings, grown more frequent as the weeks went by. The stress, the tension of holding in their secret finally gave a little.

Solace though, had given way to disquiet as the uncertainty of their standing insidiously weaved its way into their meetings. Soundwave, who burned for Jazz to the core of his spark, wanted so desperately to feel his love once more: the touch of his hand upon his face, the press of his armor against his own, the soft sigh Jazz made in the middle of a line-tingling kiss. His love trapped him in his own private Pit, reliving the memories of perfection while Jazz existed outside, hovering on the edges. He could never make another move, never reach out to Jazz again, not after what he'd done. Jazz was smiles and sharp humor and a light-sparked airiness that had moved worlds within Soundwave's soul. He was darkness, a primal scream of rage, and he'd already infected Jazz once. Jazz's smiles were fewer these days, and Soundwave knew he only had himself to blame for that.

Jazz, on the other hand, didn't know anything any longer. He needed to see Soundwave like he needed to breathe, and his spark guttered in his chest every time they separated. Still, he couldn't reach out to Soundwave. Not yet.

Thundercracker's disembodied voice split the air, crackling over Soundwave's comm. "Soundwave," he said sharply. "We have to return. Megatron's calling us all back."

"Understood." Soundwave cut the line. "Thundercracker: landing momentarily."

Jazz nodded. His spark sank. He always wanted more time with Soundwave, but he never knew what to do or say when he was actually there, actually in front of him. They could talk about battles and intelligence all day long, but when it came down to the two of them, the words vanished.

"Wait," Jazz said quickly, grabbing onto Soundwave's arm. Soundwave stopped mid-turn. "Williston Basin, in Montana, just canceled our contract to provide security for them. They mine coal and petroleum and send it down a pipeline heading east. If you're careful, and you guys don't get greedy, you can tap the line and siphon some fuel for yourselves." Jazz scratched a series of numbers in the dirt. "Positive 47.92724, negative 104.66302." He looked up. "Record it. Those are the coordinates of the oil field."

Soundwave seared the coordinates into his processor. He turned to Jazz as the sound of Thundercracker's turbines grew louder. Jazz had never before invited a Decepticon incursion or theft on either themselves or the humans.

"Don't attack anyone. Don't hurt anyone," Jazz admonished, rising quickly. He chewed on his lip as the sound of Thundercracker descending outside their grove overcame his voice. "You need energon, though." Before, the Decepticons scrambling for resources and desperate for energon would have been a hallmark of victory for Jazz, and they would have pressed ever harder, determined to drive the Decepticons to their destruction.

Now, it just made him feel tired.

"Soundwave?" Thundercracker called out, his heavy steps snapping branches. "We have to hurry."

"Go," Soundwave said softly, his battlemask sliding shut once more.

"Good luck," Jazz whispered, brushing his fingers against his armor to dislodge the dirt. "I'll see you soon." He wasn't quite sure what he had just done, giving Soundwave that information. His tanks were jumping, sparking with the nervousness of his actions. Had he just invited disaster?

No, he reminded himself. He, despite everything else, trusted Soundwave.

Still, a small part of Jazz's processor protested that the humans at Williston Basin had canceled their security contract with the Autobots thanks to Jazz's massive security failure, thanks to Soundwave's hack and the subsequent Decepticon raids by Starscream and the Decepticons. Now, he was handing Soundwave the information willingly. Either he was losing his mind, again, or Soundwave was playing him expertly, again.

It had come full circle. Jazz swallowed and transformed, pushing the thought from his mind before gunning his engine to the red line all the way back to base.

* * *

_Smokescreen was spending an awful lot of time with Trailbreaker these days_, Sideswipe thought, slumping a little further into his chair in the Rec Room. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were regaling the crowd of off duty mechs with stories of their wild actions in battle, in Bluestreak's perfect shot against the Stunticons as Sunstreaker had worked over Onslaught. It was easy to forget all of his brother's troubles when Bluestreak's optics shone this way, the light in his gaze reserved for just after battle and when turned to lust toward Sunstreaker.

Their audience was the Rec Room at large, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker included. Smokescreen joined in the retelling as Cliffjumper and Tracks boo-hooed everyone else.

Sideswipe sat apart, watching. Every once in a while he'd crack a smile, enjoying the ostentatious retelling and back and forth. Still, he kept his solitude. Everything was just a little too raw for him at the moment, and though he and Sunstreaker had escaped the _Ark_ only a few weeks ago, he already desperately needed to get out again.

His thoughts turned to their drive home, to Sunstreaker's guarded hope and his secreted gift hidden deep within his subspace. Their trip had been fantastic, surprising even, as Sideswipe had found a new interest he never even knew he had, but the drive home had been a return to reality, a tense reminder of their places in life.

"You're quiet," Sunstreaker had finally spat out, nearly swiping him as they drove abreast down the highway.

"You should talk," Sideswipe snorted, poking back toward his brother.

"I'm supposed to be quiet," Sunstreaker replied. Sunstreaker ran hot or cold, quiet and icy or loud or angry, but always so full of passion. Sideswipe just wanted everything to be normal, everyone to be happy.

"I'm just not ready to head back," Sideswipe confessed.

Sunstreaker's engine rumbled in agreement. "Can't believe you liked that slag."

"I liked that music!" Sideswipe smiled despite himself, remembering their impromptu drive-by of an outdoor concert. Sideswipe had stopped, transfixed, while Sunstreaker parked as far away as he could.

"You're depressed." Sunstreaker swiped him once more for fun.

This time, Sideswipe remained silent. "Maybe," he finally said.

Uneasy rumblings came from Sunstreaker's engine as he straightened, no longer playfully swerving into Sideswipe's lane. "Really?" he grunted.

Shrugging was impossible in alt mode, but the long whine of Sideswipe's engine conveyed the feeling. "It's dumb," he whispered.

Silence stretched out between them for several miles. Sunstreaker knew exactly what Sideswipe was referring to, and just like before, he had no idea how to help. "What about Smokescreen?" he grunted. "You two seemed to hit it off real well."

Smiling sadly, Sideswipe finally answered. "I thought we did too." Smokescreen's words, _'I can't be what you want, Sideswipe, and it's not fair to you to make you change who you are,'_ had been said with such finality, such painful certainty, that Sideswipe hadn't even had a chance to argue. There wasn't anyone who _could_ be what Sideswipe wanted; it didn't exist. He had looked, he really had, and it just didn't exist for him. But he'd shared a part of himself with Smokescreen, and just like every time with every mech, Smokescreen had ran.

Sunstreaker roared ahead, finally letting loose his frustrations. Sideswipe caught up with him over the next ten miles, and when they were finally in line once more, Sunstreaker was grumbling to himself, but pitched so Sideswipe could hear it. "Don't know why you even want to be with anyone. More fragging trouble than it's worth," he spat, his engine growling. His troubles with Bluestreak reared, and Sunstreaker clamped down on the frustration before it could grow. His gift burned against his insides, and though he would never admit to any lack of bravery, Sunstreaker knew it would take days to work up to actually giving it to Bluestreak.

"More fragging trouble than it's worth," Sunstreaker repeated, sliding close to his brother.

Finally shaking himself from his reverie, Sideswipe watched the Rec Room doors slide open. Jazz and Prowl, laughing together, slipped over to a table near the back. Jazz grabbed their rations as Prowl sat, his back to Sideswipe and his doorwings spread, relaxed. Sideswipe couldn't help himself; his optics roamed over Prowl.

"Sides!" Sunstreaker's overly loud voice rang through the Rec Room, shattering through Sideswipe's maudlin processor. "Come join us," Sunstreaker grunted, gesturing with the video game controller. "Let's show these rusty thumbs how you really play this thing."

Friendly faces turned toward Sideswipe, waving him to come and join in the fun. Sunstreaker had no doubt stirred up a confrontation and was dragging Sideswipe into the betting match. A deeper look into Sunstreaker's optics revealed a different line of concern, and the proof that he'd been watching Sideswipe's sulk all along. Gratitude flooded from Sideswipe's spark. He smiled and joined his brother and the others.

Halfway there, he bumped into Jazz, crossing back with cubes for him and Prowl. Sorry's and sidestepping were exchanged, and Sideswipe glanced back to Prowl and Jazz's table.

He'd never seen that smile on Prowl's face before.

"Sides!" Sunstreaker chucked the controller and Sideswipe's helm, and he had to move quick to catch it.

* * *

If there was one confounding variable in the whole Soundwave-shaped mess Jazz found himself trapped within, it was called Prowl.

Their unexpected intimacy had seemed to seal their previous flirting into a full fledged relationship overnight. Prowl was the consummate lover, doting, affectionate, and concerned for Jazz's every whim. His love was a shield, wrapping Jazz up in the security and comfort of not having to think, not having to rationalize, not having to understand. With him, Jazz _didn't_ think.

Unfortunately, he didn't much _feel_ either. Not like he felt for Soundwave. Not the intense need, the burning yearn to be right back at his side.

Jazz smiled as he slid into his seat across from Prowl. He had to be the façade now, had to be the mech that Prowl remembered. It was what Prowl wanted. "How was your afternoon? Clean up with the humans go well?"

"It was uneventful. The Decepticons didn't do too much damage." Prowl accepted the cube from Jazz with a smile of thanks. "How about you?"

"Went out for a drive. Tried to gather some after-action intel." Jazz kept his answers brief, sealed with a smile.

"Find anything out there?"

Jazz shrugged. "Maybe." He shifted in his seat, glancing over at the rowdy game just beginning on the game console.

Prowl's optics roamed over Jazz's profile, smiling as he took in Jazz's relaxed features, his complete turnaround from the days of despair and darkness he had been lost in. It had been slow, but over the past several weeks, Jazz had bloomed. Prowl reached out, snaking his fingers through Jazz's hand. "Want to go for a drive on Thursday? We have the day off. Head out of town, just us, together."

Jazz's helm whipped around, staring first at their joined hands and then up at Prowl's warm face. "Sure," he shrugged, grinning. He tried for a light-sparked answer.

Prowl's smile grew, and he pulled Jazz's hand up to his lips for a soft kiss. "Maybe a few other things, too," he whispered.

* * *

Starscream was all too thrilled to hear of the pipeline and oil field to be tapped in Montana. Soundwave had shared the information with a stunned-to-near-silence Thundercracker on their flight back to the _Nemesis_. Thundercracker was already shocked from Jazz's gift of an energon cube, and later that evening he'd hauled Soundwave out for a recon run of the oil field. During their flight, they decided that Thundercracker would hand over the intel, along with the admonishment to be careful. It would sound much more believable coming from Thundercracker.

"It could really happen, you know," Thundercracker said to Soundwave as they stood alone on the _Nemesis_ hangar deck, just after midnight.

Soundwave turned to him, a hard look of confusion in his optics. "State your rationalization."

Thundercracker wiped down his wing, the condensation of the clouds and the water vapor falling to the deck. "Something. Something big."

Later, Thundercracker and Starscream argued about the pipeline in their quarters and in the morning, Starscream brought it to Megatron, along with Thundercracker's concerns for longevity and his recommendations to keep their incursions and oil taps minor so as to ensure a steady supply of crude matter for energon conversion. Soundwave appropriately chimed in, siding with Thundercracker's logic and the need for a regular energon supply. Megatron wasn't pleased, but he agreed with a growl, dispatching Thundercracker and Starscream for the mission.

Soundwave and Thundercracker shared a heavy look over Megatron's shoulder before Thundercracker left the Command Deck with Starscream. Soundwave stayed behind, settling in at the main terminal as Megatron retired to his office to contact Shockwave. He was all alone on the Command Deck.

Perfect.

* * *

It was early morning when Jazz's office terminal beeped, signaling an incoming message. He was already there, uncommonly early. Recharge had become elusive, especially in Prowl's arms and in Prowl's quarters with his processor and spark filled with thoughts of Soundwave.

That was just one more thing to not think about, though, and he pushed it out of his processor.

Jazz's terminal beeped again, an incoming comm ostensibly originating in Europe flashing across his screen, asking for acceptance. He felt that thrill, that singular, Soundwave thrill. He opened the channel, leaning his helm close to the screen as the words began to flow.

His visor flashed as he took in the message. Jazz scrambled for a data pad and began to scrawl notes as fast as he could.

* * *

"Jazz, do you have anything to report?" Prime stood at the head of the table addressing the Command Staff. Their meeting was in full swing, and the departments were offering their weekly reports to Prime after the conclusion of their battle review.

"Actually," Jazz's optics glittered. "I do have some new intelligence that's pretty important. I'd like to put together a strike team to follow through on this opportunity."

Prowl, seated on Prime's right, sat forward quickly, staring at Jazz. "What is it?"

Jazz smiled at Prowl, his fingers tapping over his pad. "I've discovered the location of one of Shockwave's hidden research laboratories. He's been working on upgrading the Decepticon weapons and armor systems, and this is where it's done." He held Prowl's stare for as long as he could before looking away, staring at the shocked faces of the rest of the Command Staff.

"This is incredibly valuable information, Jazz," Prime spoke slowly, his voice rumbling from the front of the table. "We need to act on this, and act quickly. What details do you have?"

Jazz slid his data pad out in front of him. "I have all of it right here, sir." Soundwave had provided everything, from the location and coordinates to the access codes.

"Prowl, Jazz, form a strike plan and build your team. We need this research. If he's upgrading the Decepticon weapons, we need to know." Jazz and Prowl nodded, and just before Prime pushed forward with the meeting, Prowl sat forward, bracing himself with his forearms as he peered at Jazz, frowning.

"How did you get this information, Jazz?" Prowl's helm tilted, perplexed.

Jazz stilled, his easy grin frozen on his lips as his visor surged. A moment later, he shrugged. "Yesterday," he said simply.

Prowl nodded slowly, but Prime spoke again, resuming the meeting. Prowl slid back into his chair as he held Jazz's gaze. Finally, he quirked a smile back at Jazz.

* * *

Ratchet glanced over his shoulder, back down the corridor. Jazz was back in his office, leaving him and Wheeljack the time with Prowl that they needed. "Prowl, we need to talk."

Prowl stopped short, glancing up and down the hallway before turning to face Ratchet and Wheeljack. "About our project?"

Ratchet nodded, but it was Wheeljack who spoke. "We think we've got it ready."

Prowl stared at Wheeljack. "Tell me."

"It's a virus. We can transmit it back along the same frequencies that Soundwave used to hack into Jazz. It will go straight into the core of his processor."

"Viruses have been tried in the past. How is this any different?"

"This virus's nature is different," Wheeljack said, sharing a quick look with Ratchet. "It jumps the software-hardware barrier and codes to cause physical damage to the host systems."

Prowl's optics slowly moved from Wheeljack's gaze to Ratchet's and back again. "What kind of damage?"

"Destruction of circuits, obliteration of pathways, fusing of grids. The complete melting of his entire neural net and processor." Ratchet crossed his arms.

Inhaling deeply, Prowl nodded. "That is impressive," he said, his voice low. "How are you getting past his security?"

"We need Jazz's help for that," Ratchet said, holding Prowl's stare. Prowl frowned. "We need to scan his processor for the exact range of frequencies Soundwave used. We don't have them all."

Wheeljack jumped in. "We think he used rotating frequencies at the quantum level, which is why we couldn't zero in on what was happening. Also, we need to pick through Jazz's cache and find the security certificates Soundwave left behind. We'll need copies of those to insert the virus."

"How do you know he left those behind?"

"Nature of the beast," Ratchet grunted. "He can't form an access path into Jazz's processor without securing the place first. His exit was fast and messy. I don't think Jazz was meant to actually _survive_." Prowl's jaw clenched together, the gears grinding audibly as he ground his denta. Ratchet continued. "There's information left in his processor. We just need to get it."

"He won't know what we're doing," Wheeljack's audial fins flashed. "We can give him another reason for the scan."

"Jazz isn't an idiot." Prowl glared at Wheeljack.

"Of course he isn't, Prowl," Ratchet barked. "But he sure as slag isn't thinking we're doing this."

Prowl sighed, glaring at Ratchet before he turned his back to Ratchet and Wheeljack. He stared at the bulkhead, his hands propped up on his hips. "If Soundwave still has access to Jazz's processor and he manages to catch a hint of what we're doing, then it's all over." Prowl turned back around, fixing his glare to each of them.

"He won't, Prowl. Jazz won't know what we're doing." Wheeljack nodded, trying to be reassuring.

"Is this really about a possible infiltration of Jazz's processor, Prowl?" Ratchet stepped closer to Prowl, his arms still crossed over his chest. He leaned down. "Or is this vengeance? Jazz seemed pretty with it this morning in the meeting." Ratchet paused, his optics darting over Prowl's stormy face. "Would Soundwave let Jazz release that information, if he was still inside his processor?"

Prowl's optics narrowed to slits as he stared at Ratchet. His expression hardened, and he stepped away after a long, tense moment. "I want to see simulations on your virus this afternoon." Prowl held Ratchet's glare until Ratchet backed down, nodding once. Wheeljack remained silent as Prowl strode away.

"You're with him the most, Prowl!" Ratchet called. "Can you make an objective analysis?"

Prowl ignored him.

* * *

Jazz deflated as he keyed up his terminal and saw the empty inbox. Soundwave had provided him such a wealth of information that morning, which he had just turned around and gifted to the Command Staff, but still, Jazz wanted more. He wanted more of Soundwave, more of the mech, not of the intel.

Briefly, Jazz toyed with the idea of reaching out for him over the private comm lines. They had only used their comm beacons for emergencies or during imminent attacks. He could, of course, at any time use it for idle chit chat, for mundane purposes, but it seemed dangerous, somehow, to reach out to Soundwave for such a personal matter. He wanted to, yearned to, even, but that would cross a line he had drawn in his helm, and Jazz wasn't certain what that meant. Accepting information from Soundwave was one thing, handing him over a cube – or a pipeline – was another, but contacting him directly? Asking him how his day was going? Trying to force a conversation about the weather, the planet, their lives? What did any of it mean?

Slowly, despite himself, Jazz wove together the disruption frequencies, the carrier reqs, the hidden protocols that would shield his actions. He bit his lip. "Jazz to Soundwave," he whispered. "If you're there…"

"Soundwave acknowledges," came back, rumbling and full of power, echoing through Jazz's helm on an internal frequency.

Smiling, Jazz sank into his desk chair. "It's good to hear your voice," he whispered. "Well," he amended. "You know."

"Sentiments returned," Soundwave replied.

"Your intel was incredible this morning," Jazz whispered. "Thank you."

"Pipeline information: critical to our survival," Soundwave replied. "Recovery missions have begun. Need for secrecy: paramount."

"I wondered why no alarms were going off," Jazz teased.

"Your warnings: heeded. Steady stream of energon: ensured."

Jazz smiled, glancing down at his fingers. He played with his digits, folding one finger over the over and inspecting the folds of his armor and dermal plating. "How are you?"

There was a long pause. "Status: nominal."

"Nominal?"

Another pause. "Jazz is… missed."

Slowly, Jazz smiled. A warmth, a half-answer to his longing filled his being, suffusing his spark. "Likewise," he choked out.

The silence lasted too long this time, growing uncomfortable and disconcerting. "Soundwave?"

Finally, Soundwave answered, but this time, his voice was grave. "Attack imminent."

* * *

The Umatilla Chemical Depots were isolated and remote, and bitterly difficult to defend. Small silos, humps built into the hillside, housed stockpiles of chemical and biological weapons from wars of bygone eras. The attack was a drastic shift in tactics from the Decepticons usual targets, and the Autobots scrambled to catch up.

"Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Take down the Seekers! Go! Now!" Prowl shouted into the battlenet commlink, gesturing to the twins as they charged up a burned-out hillside silo. The Seekers were holding the Autobot ground forces away from the Decepticon raid.

Jazz held back, reconnoitering the battle from his perch on a side hill. He glanced up over the mound, dodging scattered laser shots that whomped into the dirt. He couldn't see a thing.

o - o

Megatron smiled as he clenched his fist. Shockwave's plan was working fabulously. Soundwave stood next to him, impassive. "Direct Dirge's trine to attack while Starscream collects the munitions."

A chorus of affirmatives rang out over the comm lines as dirt exploded along the Autobot lines. Soundwave's optics tried to penetrate the dust clouds.

o - o

Sunstreaker crouched down with Sideswipe, hidden from view and away from the main forces. The Seekers screamed by overhead, turbines and engines opening up at full throttle for their strafing run against the Autobots. Sunstreaker jerked, trying to see their main lines and see through the plums of dirt and debris thrown skyward from the Seekers' attack.

"He's okay," Sideswipe whispered, gripping his brother's wrist. "He's okay."

Sunstreaker nodded as the Seekers screamed in overhead. "Now!" he shouted, his guttural bellow tearing from his throat. As one, they jumped, leaping skyward in powerful lunges into Starscream's trine. Sunstreaker landed on Thundercracker, Sideswipe on Skywarp. They tore, punched, cut, shot, and smashed, doing whatever they could, anything they could, to tear into the Seekers, all while trying to hang on for dear life.

o - o

Prowl ducked around Smokescreen, trying to see the Decepticon command staff. "Prime," he called. "Megatron is holding back. The Seekers are taking the brunt of this assault."

"Understood. Deploy the twins and concentrate fire on the Seeker trines."

"Already done." Prowl cut the line, motioning to Smokescreen and Bluestreak to turn their sniper attacks to Dirge's trine in support of the twins. Dirge and his trinemates were zeroing in on Starscream and his trine, trying to pick Sideswipe and Sunstreaker from their plating.

o - o

_"Prowl to Jazz. What do you see?"_

Jazz pivoted over his shoulder, glancing over the knoll he crouched behind to lay a series of cover fire for the minibots. Above, the Aerialbots streaked by, trailing after Dirge's trine. "Chaos, Prowl," he grunted.

_"One of the bunkers near you was destroyed. What did Starscream get?"_

Jazz shot at the Constructicons before ducking back down. "Munitions. Lots of them."

_"Did you fire?"_

"No!" Jazz turned and tried to fire again. "We don't know what's in those crates. I'm not going to risk contaminating the valley."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. _"Understood."_ Prowl finally called. _"Get ready. They're moving."_

_o - o_

Megatron grinned at Soundwave. "Soundwave, call our forces back," he snapped. "We have our objective, and there's no use wasting our precious energon." His optics glinted, malice and ire oozing from his gaze.

Soundwave nodded, slowly. His processor burned, screaming to seek out Jazz, but instead, he focused on Megatron and the Decepticons. "Decepticons," he droned across their battlenet. "Fall back. Objective secured." Chirps and calls of acknowledgement rang out.

o - o

"They're pulling out," Prowl called across the Autobot battlenet. He turned to Bluestreak and Smokescreen, the best sharpshooters in the ranks. "We need to cover the twins. Fire on Starscream's trine on my mark." Whirling, Prowl hefted his rifle, holding it to his optic. Bluestreak and Smokescreen fell in beside him, balancing on the dirt slope. "Ready," Prowl whispered. "Fire!"

Sideswipe, clinging to Skywarp's tailfins as the purple jet tried to barrel roll at Mach 4 from his plating, spotted Prowl, Bluestreak, and Smokescreen lining up for their shots. "Sunny!" he shouted into his comm. "Time to go!"

Sunstreaker grinned, his denta clenched together as he peeled away the plating surrounding Thundercracker's cockpit. The armor on one of Thundercracker's wings was already torn to shreds, blackened and burned from Sunstreaker's rifle. Thundercracker was doing everything he could to shake Sunstreaker from his alt mode, but the golden twin hung on with all of his considerable strength, steadily tearing into Thundercracker's internals.

Thundercracker felt a tear inside his lines, then the slick sensation of pulsing energon. Grunting, he changed course, no longer trying to buck Sunstreaker off but instead tearing toward the Decepticon lines. Someone had to pluck Sunstreaker from him with a well-placed shot.

Shots rattled his undercarriage, peppering the underside of his wings in sharp bursts of laser fire. Sunstreaker, still on his wings, gave one final kick into Thundercracker's cockpit, shattering the rest of the glass. Thundercracker grunted, howling, before Sunstreaker leapt from his wings. Shots continued to stream past his badly damaged and injured wings. Cursing, Thundercracker throttled hard, zooming away from the battle and racing toward the Decepticon lines.

Sideswipe, already on the ground and moving toward Prowl's position, saw his brother jump from Thundercracker's wings. "Fragger," he mumbled, rolling his shoulder. Jet Judo wasn't easy on their bodies, but Sunstreaker's leaps from too-high altitudes were even worse. He watched as Sunstreaker ducked and rolled, crashing down on his shoulder. A burst of pain echoed over his twin bond, and he cringed, grasping at his shoulder joint. Sideswipe stumbled over the hump of earth and collapsed next to Bluestreak, still shooting after the Decepticon retreat.

Sideswipe sighed, leaning back against the incline as he gripped his shoulder. "Sunny needs Ratchet," he grunted, looking across Bluestreak to Prowl. "He's torn his shoulder. Again."

Prowl nodded, not breaking his fire as he onlined his comm unit and repeated Sideswipe's declaration. Sideswipe sighed, letting his helm rest against the dirt hill. His gaze dragged over to Bluestreak, firing in tandem with Prowl. He'd heard Sideswipe's pronouncement, had seen Sunstreaker fall.

Bluestreak didn't say a word, didn't react in any way.

* * *

Jazz grimaced as he listened to Sunstreaker's retelling – again – of how he pulled apart Thundercracker's leading wing edge. Ratchet pursed his lips and shook his helm as Sunstreaker gestured wildly.

"You should have heard him howling," Sunstreaker said, grinning. "It was great."

"I like how you kicked his cockpit," Sideswipe chimed in, leaning back against the medberth with his arms crossed. "Nice finishing touch!"

Sunstreaker grinned again, then hissed as Ratchet reconnected a series circuit in his shoulder. The joint had been completely knocked out of alignment, the socket half crushed, circuits and wires pulled out, but some hammering by Ratchet, several hours, and a complete refusal of pain killers later, and Sunstreaker was almost back to rights. The paint was obliterated on his shoulder, and his optics were slightly too bright, but his attitude was back in force.

Sunstreaker glared at Ratchet. "That's attached, you know," he grumbled.

"You wouldn't know it based on the way you treat yourself," Ratchet snapped. "Sideswipe doesn't leap from impossible heights."

Sunstreaker smirked. "He didn't knock Skywarp out like I did Thundercracker." Sideswipe kicked out, jamming his foot into Sunstreaker's knee. Sunstreaker kicked back, instantly starting a fight between the two brothers.

"Hey!" Ratchet bellowed at the twins. "Knock it off! Or get out!" He grabbed Sunstreaker by the back of his armor and hauled him back to the berth. "I'll leave you with a dangling arm, Sunstreaker. Don't think I won't. It's your own slagging fault this happens, and one day, you're going to be in a world of hurt when they figure out how to knock you both on your afts!"

Sunstreaker shook Ratchet's hand off, resettling against the berth. "They don't have the processors to figure it out," he snapped.

Jazz frowned, hanging back from the twins and waiting on the other side of the medbay. He had burned his hand down to his protoform while racing to secure one of the burning and ransacked bunkers, and while it stung, Ratchet had deemed his injury the least important of everyone. Jazz waited, while Prowl, Prime, and the rest of the Autobots finished with the after battle review and security patrols. He flexed his fingers, wincing, and listened to the twins.

Naturally, his thoughts were consumed with Soundwave.

Sunstreaker's graphic descriptions of his attack on Thundercracker, his reenactments of the blue Seeker's grunts of pain, were doing strange things to Jazz's processor. Thundercracker was the enemy, he was a Decepticon, he was trying to attack and destroy the humans and Jazz's fellow Autobots. He deserved everything Sunstreaker did, and more. But he was also the mech who befriended Soundwave, who kept their secret, and who brought Soundwave out for their rendezvous without ever a single question. He protected them, and Jazz was unspeakably grateful for that. That mech, that Thundercracker, didn't deserve any of what had happened to him. How was Jazz supposed to reconcile the two?

How was Soundwave? Was he alright? He stayed in the rear with Megatron, directing the flow of the battle, but Jazz hadn't been able to keep his optics on him like he normally tried to do every time, and he didn't know if anyone had managed to land a shot on Soundwave. Soundwave had become a popular target since Jazz's attack, and while the Autobots didn't know the full details, most knew that Soundwave was behind it.

Jazz stewed, fretting inside his processor as he listened to more of the twins' retelling. His lines were burning, jumping and prickling with the need to reach out, the need to contact Soundwave, to hear his voice, to know he was alright. A small part of his processor feared for Thundercracker. Was he going to be alright, after Sunstreaker's attack?

Giving in, Jazz opened his secured channel. "Jazz to Soundwave," he whispered.

There was a long pause, almost too long, and Jazz thought that Soundwave wouldn't respond. Maybe he was damaged. Or was he angry? Was he with Megatron? Jazz's frantic worry nearly doubled in size.

"Soundwave acknowledges," he finally heard, the rich baritone flooding through his processor. Jazz nearly sighed with relief, wilting as he exhaled.

"How are you?" Jazz whispered, turning away from the twins and Ratchet.

"Status: functional. No damage sustained," Soundwave replied, his voice clipped and efficient.

"That's good, that's good," Jazz whispered. He squeezed his burnt fingers. "What was that about? That attack?"

"Purpose: unknown. Plan: of Shockwave's design," Soundwave rumbled.

Jazz nodded slowly, inhaling, forgetting that Soundwave couldn't see him. "Oh," he added. "I see. It just seemed a bit strange. That's not something you guys normally go after."

"Purpose: unknown," Soundwave repeated, his voice dropping as his syllables became more clipped, more pronounced and terse.

Jazz swallowed. "Are you alright?"

Silence. "Currently occupied with repairs. Thundercracker's condition: serious."

Turning to glance over his shoulder, Jazz stared at Sunstreaker. The golden twin was rotating his shoulder, seemingly fully repaired and joking with his brother. Ratchet was nowhere to be seen. "Is he going to be alright?" Jazz whispered, choking the words past the lump in his throat.

Another beat of silence. "Eventually. With repairs. Equipment required and not possessed." Jazz could hear the strain in Soundwave's voice, the curled anger and frustration.

The words came before Jazz could stop them. "I'll see what I can do," he whispered, turning away from Sunstreaker.

Ratchet stood immediately in front of Jazz, staring at him with a small frown. "Who you talking to, Jazz?"

Jazz nearly jumped out of his plating, every gear and line seizing instantly as his visor burst a white-bright flash of surprise. "Ratchet!" he gasped, cutting the line with Soundwave. How long had Ratchet been standing there? Had he already started scanning? Did he know Jazz had a comm line open? "I didn't see you there."

Ratchet frowned, peering at Jazz too closely. Jazz tried not to move, not to breathe even, holding perfectly still under the medic's scrutiny. Ratchet opened his mouth, and Jazz's hydraulics seized, breathless.

"Thanks Doc!" Sideswipe called out, waving to Ratchet as he and Sunstreaker headed out. "We'll see you soon!"

Ratchet frowned again, turning his attention to the twins as Jazz exhaled. "Never would be too soon," Ratchet called grumpily after the twins. He turned back to Jazz. "Let's have a look at your hand," he said, onlining his scanner.

Jazz obligingly held his hand out for Ratchet. "Was Sunstreaker badly hurt?" Jazz asked softly a moment later.

"Nah, just crushed his shoulder. For his build, it's an almost painless injury." Ratchet cast a dry look toward Jazz. "Just time consuming to repair. More so considering who it is."

Jazz smiled as Ratchet worked over his hand. "You said…" he swallowed, then tried again. "You said earlier that they were lucky the Seekers hadn't figured out how to stop them. What did you mean by that?"

Ratchet glanced up at Jazz. Turning away, he reached for a set of microtools in the berthside storage container. "Those Lamborghinis have no protections against electrocution. Their models are sensitive, finicky things on the inside." He glanced at Jazz, one optic ridge arched high. "But don't let them hear you say so." Jazz chuckled humorlessly. "They've got enough armor plating to withstand brunt force assaults, crashing into the earth, barreling through trees branches, tossed from on high, or pummeled with 12 G's. What they don't have is internal protection against electrocution. If the Seekers replicated what Silverbolt can do? If they were able to surge a burst of electricity into one of 'em?" Ratchet shook his helm.

"Would it kill them?" Jazz choked out, wincing as Ratchet peeled out the burnt wiring melted into his protoform.

"The surge? No, probably not," Ratchet mused. "Depending on where, though, the fall might hurt 'em." Ratchet glanced up, meeting Jazz's gaze. "Why do you ask?".

Jazz shrugged. "Just curious," he said. "I never knew they had a vulnerability."

Ratchet snorted, turning his attention back down to Jazz's palm. "They have about a thousand, Jazz, if you know where to look."

* * *

Sunstreaker turned to his brother. "Sides, I'm going to meet Blue back at our quarters."

Sideswipe, well familiar with Sunstreaker's antics after a trip to the medbay, nodded, smiling at his brother. His smile didn't reach his optics. "No problem, Sunny. I'll hang out for a while. Stir up some trouble."

Sunstreaker snorted, looking away. "I'm gonna give it to him," Sunstreaker grunted.

"I hope he likes it, Sunny." Sideswipe squeezed his brother's shoulder.

"See ya later, bro." Sunstreaker padded off. Sideswipe watched him go, and smiled sadly. He hoped somehow things would start to go right for his brother.

* * *

Bluestreak was on Sunstreaker as soon as the doors parted. His optics, nearly as bright as Sunstreaker's, gleamed with lust. "Was wondering when you'd call me," Bluestreak teased.

Sunstreaker's engine surged, roaring to life at Bluestreak's touch. He seized him, wrapping Bluestreak up in his arms, and then it was kisses and passionate fury and wild pawing as they sought to claim each other. Like mechs bedeviled, they tore into one another, frantically trying to feel more. Sunstreaker tried to pour all of his feelings, all of his conflict, all of his turbulent emotions into his passion. Bluestreak tried to _feel_, feel more of everything, feel more of Sunstreaker, and more of life itself.

For Sunstreaker, making love to Bluestreak was the best painkiller there was, and he moved until his optics went white and his overload scratched patterns behind his gaze, the force of their screaming passion pushing out everything else, all else other than their shouts and gasps of frenzied pleasure.

Sunstreaker collapsed next to Bluestreak, panting heavily. Bluestreak lay beside him, not moving, his optics offline. Sunstreaker watched him, propping himself up on his elbow and resting his helm in his hand as he stared at the profile of his lover.

Bluestreak smiled as he felt the intensity of Sunstreaker's gaze. "Watcha looking at?" Bluestreak teased, twisting his hand to rest against Sunstreaker's chest.

"You," Sunstreaker said simply.

"Like what you see?" Bluestreak's optics remained offline.

Sunstreaker nodded, reaching for Bluestreak's hand. He pulled it to his lips, dropping a slow kiss against his plating. Bluestreak's optic ridges quirked upwards as he sighed, murmuring his amusement. Sunstreaker swallowed, watching it all. He'd memorized how Bluestreak looked in these moments, peaceful, relaxing after their lovemaking, and had burned the image into the darkness of his processor. He wanted Bluestreak to see how perfect he looked, how lovely he was to Sunstreaker, and to that end, Sunstreaker had labored over a portrait of Bluestreak, in just that position, for weeks. He'd finished it in San Francisco, and it was simply waiting to be given to Bluestreak.

Sunstreaker, who could never be called a coward, hesitated, though.

"Did you miss me?" Sunstreaker choked out, lacing their fingers together and letting their hands fall to the berth.

Bluestreak's lips quirked upwards. "I missed this," he said lightly.

Sunstreaker frowned, tugging on Bluestreak's hand. "Did you miss _me_?" he repeated.

Finally, Bluestreak's optics onlined. He turned, staring at Sunstreaker with the only unreadable expression Sunstreaker ever saw. "Yeah," he said after a long pause. "I missed you," he said quietly. Bluestreak immediately offlined his optics.

Sunstreaker swallowed, gathering his courage. That was progress, those words from Bluestreak. He squeezed Bluestreak's hand, then clambered out of the berth. "I have something for you, Blue," he said.

Bluestreak reached out, grabbing at Sunstreaker's arms and halting his progress. "No, no, Sunny, don't get up," Bluestreak whined. "And don't get me anything. I _told_ you, I don't _want_ anything. Can't we just enjoy this? Please?"

Sunstreaker froze. "I made something for you, Blue," he said softly. He shook himself out of Bluestreak's grip.

Bluestreak groaned, slumping back to the berth with a clang as he threw his arm over his optics. "Sunny…" he growled.

Sunstreaker pulled out his sketch, swallowing. He hesitated again, but finally moved back to the berth. Bluestreak onlined his optics with a sigh and pulled his arm away, casting a droll look up at Sunstreaker.

Wordlessly, Sunstreaker handed his sketch over. It wasn't the most auspicious way to present his present, and in his helm, Bluestreak had always been far more excited.

Bluestreak frowned. He stared at the drawing of himself, reclining on the berth, a satisfied, happy smile stretched out his lips, one hand carelessly tossed across his chest and the other over his helm. He was the image of relaxation, of contentment, of post-lovemaking bliss. It was the way Sunstreaker loved to see him, happy and totally at ease.

"What is this?" Bluestreak asked, confused. "Did you make this?" He stared at Sunstreaker, still standing awkwardly by the berth.

Sunstreaker nodded. "I draw," he grunted, blurting out his secret pastime.

"You _drew_ this?" Bluestreak said in disbelief. He stared at the drawing again, taking in the detail.

Sunstreaker frowned at Bluestreak's tone. "Yeah, I did," he said, defensiveness creeping into his spark. "Which you would know if you had ever asked-"

Bluestreak cut Sunstreaker off with a groan. "Sunny!" he moaned. "Can we please not do this again?"

"Don't you want to know things about me? Don't you want to know where I went? What I was doing? What I like?" Sunstreaker scowled, pulling at his drawing. Bluestreak let it go. "Who I am?"

Bluestreak glared at Sunstreaker. "No," he snapped. "No, I don't want to know! I don't _care_ where you go. _Go_, go with Sideswipe, go do _whatever_ you do! I _don't _care!"

Sunstreaker recoiled. His expression darkened, caught between rage and hurt. "You don't even come see me in medbay."

"No, I don't!" Bluestreak snapped again. "'Cause that's not what we are, Sunstreaker! We're not _together_, we're not a couple, we're not dating, we're not in _love_, we're just _fragging_!" Bluestreak huffed, pushing himself out of the berth. "You keep _pushing_, you're always pushing, trying to change things. You _knew_ what I wanted when we started this and it's _not_ my fragging fault that you're feeling differently!" Bluestreak shouted at Sunstreaker, pushing into his personal space.

Sunstreaker's scowl deepened, his optics blazing with frustrated rage.

Bluestreak pushed by him, shouldering past Sunstreaker as he stormed across the twins' quarters. "Quit trying to make this something it's not, Sunstreaker," Bluestreak snapped, slapping at the door pad to leave. He ducked out, not turning back.

Slowly, Sunstreaker crumpled his sketch, crushing the drawing he had labored over into a tiny ball, as tiny as his spark was feeling, as compact as his rage. He ground it down, trying to destroy the sketch and all his feelings wrapped up within the thin, delicate lines.

* * *

Sideswipe sighed, leaning up against the rocks protecting the entrance to the _Ark_ and staring up at the sky. The sun was setting, turning the horizon blood-red and burnt orange. He watched the clouds, the steady movement as they floated along the wind currents, feeling the same wind brush through his armor.

He hoped things were going well with his brother. Sunstreaker's passion ran deep, and his feelings toward Bluestreak and had shifted the more time he had spent with his regular lover. Sideswipe, who had heard enough rumors and gossip about Bluestreak to last a lifetime, had tried to warn Sunstreaker, but his brother wouldn't hear it. Where Sunstreaker's spark lay, so did his determination. All Sideswipe could do was stand beside him, support him, just as Sunstreaker had supported him, for all the years of their life.

He sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest, and then quirked his helm as he heard a faint voice nearby. He listened, trying to hone in on the speaker.

"Yeah, I'm leaving now," he heard. "I'll be there soon. I've got the stuff." Sideswipe frowned, pushing off his rock and poked his helm around the outcropping.

Jazz was putting something into his subspace, speaking softly. "Jazz?" Sideswipe asked. "Who are you talking to?"

Jumping, Jazz whirled around. "Sideswipe! I didn't see you."

Sideswipe quirked a wry smile back to Jazz, tipping his helm back to his hidden perch. "You weren't supposed to," he quipped.

Grunting, Jazz nodded. "I'm heading out for a little while," Jazz said awkwardly, shifting. "I'm going to try and get some more information on what happened today."

Sideswipe nodded. "Cool," he said, relaxing. "Bet they're all tucked back in their base. We kicked their afts today." Sideswipe smiled at Jazz.

Jazz nodded stiffly. "Well, see you later," he said, dropping into his alt mode.

"Drive safe!" Sideswipe called after Jazz, watching the fade of Jazz's taillights as they bled into the distance.

* * *

Jazz waited in the grove for almost an hour, counting the seconds as dusk turned to night and the sounds of the nocturnal forest came alive around him. He had pulled out the supplies he brought from the _Ark_ and stacked everything in a neat pile, ready for when they arrived. He paced, trying to bleed out his nervousness. He finally sat, staring at nothing, counting the seconds as his audials searched the darkness, trying to pull out the sound of Seeker engines.

When he finally heard the faint, telltale screech of the turbines, Jazz frowned. Thundercracker's engines were more hoarse, headier than he remembered, and knocking. Clear damage. Thundercracker's descent to the grove was slow and methodical, and his transformation painfully labored. Jazz heard him grunting, and his vents heaving, trying to catch his breath.

"This better fragging be worth it," Jazz heard Thundercracker grumble, followed by the sound of another transformation. He peered through the tree trunks, watching Soundwave reach out and squeeze at Thundercracker's shoulder.

"Rest here," Soundwave said softly. Thundercracker slumped against a tree trunk and dimmed his optics. Soundwave slipped between tree trunks split into a V and headed for Jazz.

Jazz met him in the middle with a tight smile. Soundwave nodded, retracting his battle mask, and swallowed. "Supplies?" Soundwave asked, tired.

"I have them over there," Jazz replied, pointing to his pile. "Gold plated wiring, series circuit adapters, step up transformers, and medical grade sheets of platinum."

Soundwave's optics roved over the supplies. He turned back to Jazz, his mouth pinched and tight. "Gratitude greatly extended," Soundwave rumbled.

"I wanted to help," Jazz whispered. "I hope he recovers." He reached out, tangling their hands together.

"Recovery: greatly improved with supplies," Soundwave replied, squeezing down. Jazz winced, pulling back on his right hand. Soundwave frowned.

"Burned my hand," Jazz whispered. "It's still healing."

Soundwave nodded and lifted Jazz's hand to his mouth. Softly, tenderly, Soundwave pressed a kiss to Jazz's palm. "Swift recovery." Soundwave rumbled, breathing the words over Jazz's palm.

Jazz swallowed. "There's something else," he whispered quickly. "I know how Thundercracker can stop the Jet Judo attacks."

Soundwave's gaze intensified and he straightened, staring down at Jazz. "Information: willing to be shared?"

Jazz exhaled explosively, staring into Soundwave's optics. "Yes, I'll share it," he whispered. "But you have to promise not to kill them. Not to damage them irreparably. Not to destroy them." He burned his gaze into Soundwave's. "I'm _trusting_ you with their lives."

For a long moment, neither moved. Finally, Soundwave nodded. He squeezed down on Jazz's hand, still trapped within his own. "Understood," he said quietly.

Jazz shifted on his feet. "They're…" he swallowed, his processor flashing back to the medbay, to the twins' jubilant expressions and their damages inflicted on the Seekers, then to Soundwave's concern and worry over Thundercracker's condition. Feet away, Thundercracker lay injured, grunting in pain at every twitch of his wings. Jazz swallowed again. "They're vulnerable to electrical surges," he whispered. "They're tough enough to take whatever the Seekers than throw at them physically, but if they surge some electricity through their bodies, their internals are sensitive enough to where that will knock them out of the fight. They'll lose their attack, and the Seekers can escape."

Soundwave stared, listening to Jazz's hushed and bitten off words. He nodded, absorbing everything.

"But you have to be careful," Jazz admonished. "They're probably going to fall off, be knocked off balance, disoriented. Don't let them fall from too high up. Don't kill them."

Again, Soundwave nodded, his gaze sharpening as he took in Jazz's pinched and worried expression. "Reason for sharing?" Soundwave asked, studying Jazz's expression.

Smiling sadly, Jazz looked down. He pulled his hands from Soundwave's grip, resting them on his hips. "I want to reciprocate," he said. "You've shared information with me, information that allowed us to save lives." Jazz shook his helm, staring past the redwoods to where Thundercracker rested. "I can't deny that I've gotten emotionally invested in you." Slowly, Jazz twisted, staring at Soundwave.

Soundwave froze, his lips parted as he listened to Jazz's words. Jazz pressed forward, a tiny smile on his face. "Thundercracker is your friend. In some, weird, twisted way, I kind of like him, too. He's working with us, helping us, and I respect that." Jazz nodded, as if convincing himself. "I respect the risks he takes, doing this. And, even though he's a Decepticon, that's not all he is."

Soundwave's jaw clenched, the gears in his throat rising and falling as he tried to swallow past the lump wedged within. Before, he hadn't cared over the Seeker's injuries from the Autobot twins' Jet Judo attacks beyond the irritating inconvenience it would present to their operations tempo and future battle plans. If Starscream were injured, the base would have to put up with his temper and his whining, but beyond that, Soundwave had no emotional investment.

Since Jazz, though, since their new world, since Soundwave's world have been switched on, painted in bursts of colors and lights and emotions, since he had found common strides within Thundercracker, Soundwave realized he had crossed a line that he couldn't undo. What happened to Thundercracker affected him now.

It was another thing to be angry about, to be frustrated over. Friendship could make him weak, he thought bitterly. Friendship tied him in bonds of fidelity to other mechs, to their needs, desires, wants, and whims, chaining him to their weaknesses. It was a form of bondage, a cage of obligation and counter obligation. It was always waiting for the hammer to drop, for a new, raw wound to be uncovered, a new stab in the dark to strike.

And yet, friendship was also strength. Soundwave had never before had the strength of a friend, the power and resiliency of another mech standing beside him. Another mech at his side, backing him up, never letting him down. Thundercracker's support of his rendezvous with Jazz was unwavering, though they carried immeasurable risks for them both. Thundercracker's friendship was a beachhead, a surge of all other emotions, the basis of the slow awakening of what was remaking Soundwave's understanding of the world: a new understanding of strength.

For all his new commitment to Thundercracker, however, Soundwave was still caught in between his feelings for Jazz, his raw, soul-deep need, and his loyalty for the Decepticons, the core of his spark and the beat of his pounding soul. Gaining strength in one area – his feelings for Jazz, his pursuit of their potential, every illicit meeting that teased at all they could do and become together – battled against the strength of everything else – the Decepticons, his commitment to their cause and their vision of the future – and tore him from the arms of both.

The further he fell into the bonds of friendship or of his soul's deepest love, the tighter the bonds against the Decepticons became. How could he resist helping Thundercracker, the damaged Seeker grunting in pain, coming to him for aid and assistance in his time of need? Thundercracker trusted him, was showing Soundwave his vulnerability, his need, and his weakest state. And Soundwave had jumped to help him. This was not the Decepticon way.

The harder he fought with the Decepticons and for everything that he had struggled for, bitterly fought for with his bare hands, the further he was pulled away from the bonds of his friendship or his love.

Which was the stronger? Which was where his future lie? Which was the best course, the Decepticon way, burning bloodied, or allowing the bonds of obligation, of fidelity, of mutual need and regard and perhaps even his deepest love settle over his spark?

"Decepticon, Autobot…" Soundwave mused, his voice dropping an octave with the intensity of his thoughts. "Not all anyone is."

Jazz shook his helm, smiling tightly. "Not anymore," he whispered. "Sometimes, I worry that's all I am anymore. That all I know how to do is fight a war. That fighting is all I have left."

Soundwave nodded, caught hearing Jazz's words and feeling the depth of them, so close to his own emotions.

Jazz shook his helm. "But, when I think about you, I want to be more. I want to _do_ more." Jazz lifted his hand, snaking his fingers through Soundwave's. "I can't forget about our Cybertron," he finished, barely breathing.

Soundwave stared down at Jazz, his spark pounding, pulsing, screaming in his chest. His lines were surging, emotion flooding his body, new and terrifying and amazing. "Jazz," Soundwave whispered, the word choking in his throat. "Words inadequate-" he stopped, unable to continue.

Smiling, and utterly terrified of everything he was doing, Jazz leaned up, resting his hand against Soundwave's cheek. He stroked his plating, then cupped the curve of his jaw. "Soundwave," Jazz whispered, stepping intimately close to his body. He leaned up, their mouths and lips nearly aligned. "I've missed you _so_ much," Jazz breathed, whispering the words in ghosts of air across Soundwave's breathless lips. Slowly, too slowly, Jazz closed the distance, gently pressing against one another.

Trembling, hesitating with the restrained force of his passion, Soundwave didn't move, _couldn't_ move. He felt all of Jazz's body, all of his heat, all of his smooth, perfect plating sliding against his, the perfect feel of their kiss.

All at once, it was if a dam had broken loose, the strength of Soundwave's passion finally overcoming his terror, and he surged into action. His arms wrapped around Jazz, pulling him closer, deeper against his body. He moaned, groaning as his lips parted, kissing Jazz back with all the passion his spark had nurtured. He wrapped around Jazz, trying to envelop him, draw him in, merge with him, drown inside his armor, all the while trying to erase all the darkness within himself and replace it with all that was Jazz. Jazz, kissing him back with building passion, twisted his hips against Soundwave's, sending a cascade of surging heat throughout Soundwave's systems. He growled, pulling Jazz tighter against him, and his spark leapt at the faint gasp that fell from Jazz's kiss-bruised lips.

"I hate to interrupt," Thundercracker's dry voice called, splitting the hot night with the coldness of reality. "But my energy is dumping, and if we're going to head back to base at all, we've got to leave now." Thundercracker, leaning heavily against a redwood at the outside of the grove, smirked at them both.

Soundwave offlined his optics before nodding. Jazz was panting, his optics wide beneath his visor, and he clung to Soundwave's frame, never wanting to let go. Slowly, Soundwave leaned down, pressing a last, lingering kiss to the top of Jazz's helm. Jazz sighed, his optics dimming, and stepped back.

"Here," Jazz whispered hoarsely, trying to collect himself and pretend as if he hadn't just been caught passionately kissing one of his sworn enemies. "Take this." He reached into his subspace and pulled out a cube, full to the brim with warm energon. "I couldn't get more than one, I'm sorry." Jazz crossed the grove to Thundercracker.

Thundercracker watched his every step with wary optics. His breathing was shallow, his energy near gone, and as Jazz approached, the energon seemed to grow more and more delicious, more perfectly scented, more wonderfully imagined. He swallowed, hesitating before taking the cube. "Thanks," he grunted, holding Jazz's gaze for a short moment before taking a long swig from the cube. Jazz nodded, and their gazes held. Silence stretched for a moment. "Jazz," Thundercracker began. "I'm sorry," he breathed, "for the part I played in-" His hand waved through the air, trying to encompass the telepathic link and all of the cascading darkness since.

Jazz shook his helm. "That's the past," he said. He motioned to the cube. "That's the future." Thundercracker looked away, nodding and pensive.

"I've got to head back," Jazz said, moving back to Soundwave. Soundwave had closed his battlemask again, locking himself away and hidden from view. He nodded, his optics burning behind his visor. "The supplies are all yours. I can try and get more if you need it." Again, Soundwave nodded slowly.

Jazz smiled, finally stepping into Soundwave's personal space. He pressed a kiss to Soundwave's closed battlemask and whispered against the plating, "I'll see you soon." Soundwave's hand grabbed Jazz's, squeezing almost painfully tight.

"See you soon," Soundwave intoned as Jazz walked away. At the edge of the grove, Jazz turned, smiling back at Soundwave. Soundwave's optics burned, staring after Jazz's every move with an emotion and intensity Jazz couldn't identify.

* * *

"There you are, Jazz!" Ratchet's grumpy voice broke over Jazz's comm system as he neared the _Ark_. "Where have you been?"

"Just trying to gather some intel," Jazz lied, pumping his engine to hurry back base. "Why, did I miss something?"

"I've been looking for you," Ratchet said. "Come on into the medbay as soon as you get back. I need to run some tests."

"Is this about my hand?" Jazz's fingers ached, the scraped protoform beneath his new circuits still raw and sore.

"No, I've got to run some scans of your processor. Some of the mechs are showing some destabilization after exposure to the chemicals today," Ratchet lied. "I want to run a sweep of your systems, see if anything is going on up in that processor of yours."

Jazz's lines turned to ice. "Ratch,' that doesn't make sense," he scoffed. "Chemical weapons can't affect us."

"Why don't you let me be the determination of that, Jazz?" Ratchet snapped. "If you've got chemical gas stuck up in your intakes, the electron flow within your circuits and the timing of your cathode-anode sequence could be affected. Get to the medbay, now!" Ratchet cut the line without another word.

Jazz laid off the accelerator, slowing his pace to nearly a crawl. He opened his files, his private comm logs, his messages, his time-stamped entrances and exits from the _Ark_ communications grid, the clearance codes for each territory beacon he crossed. The electronic record of his access to the _Ark_ stores that evening. Each was a piece to a pattern of meeting up with Soundwave in their grove, or talking to him via their comm system. Each was a damming piece of evidence against his traitorous actions.

One by one, he began to purge the files, erasing everything he could.


	10. Chapter 10

**Fracture Mechanics 10**

* * *

Prowl stared down at Jazz's recharging faceplates, smiling softly. His cabin was dark and only the dim light of his optics penetrated the black. A soft blue glow tickled over Jazz's plating before fading away. Slowly, Prowl's hand stroked down Jazz's arm, barely touching the warm plating.

Inhaling at the tender contact, Jazz slowly onlined. His visor flickered, and after a moment, Jazz registered Prowl's face gently staring down at him, then the soft stroking up and down his arm. "Hey," Jazz whispered, a tired smile spreading out over his face. "What are you doing up?"

"I can't break the habit of onlining for the first shift, even when we have the day off," Prowl said gently. He grinned at himself. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Jazz burrowed against Prowl's side, reaching out and stroking Prowl's hip. Comfortable silence stretched between them. "You look happy," Jazz finally said.

Prowl nodded. "I am," he said, stroking Jazz's arm. "Nothing makes me happier than seeing _you_ happy."

Jazz froze. Prowl continued, lacing their fingers together. "I keep telling you I'm proud of you, Jazz, and I want you to know that I _mean_ it. It's been two months, and every day you are stronger." Prowl's words were soft, his voice deep. "Your _resiliency_, Jazz…" Prowl swallowed, and he lifted Jazz's hand to his mouth and pressed gentle, tiny kisses to his knuckles. "I am so very thankful that you have allowed me to be a part of your healing."

Jazz tried to swallow past the lump of shame lodged in his throat. "Prowl…" he choked out, whispering.

Prowl's optics burned, warmth and love radiating out. It had been the magnet to Jazz, that unconditional love and support, and was the keystone of Jazz's twisted maze that had become his life. He needed it, needed that feeling, that knowledge that no matter what he did, he was loved.

Of course, the darker parts of Jazz's processor whispered that Prowl wouldn't love what he was doing now. As always, Jazz ruthlessly shut down those thoughts.

"Prowl," Jazz whispered again, squeezing Prowl's hand. "I couldn't do this… I couldn't have done _any_ of this without your help."

Prowl smiled again and pressed another soft kiss to the back of Jazz's hand. "You are strong, Jazz, stronger that you give yourself credit for." Jazz smiled weakly, then shivered at the feel of Prowl's warm lips moving over his hand. "I hate what happened to you, Jazz. If I could take it back, I would, no matter the cost." Prowl's voice hardened, and he shook his helm as he swallowed. Jazz's visor brightened at Prowl's words, and his hand clenched down on Prowl's fingers, too tightly.

Squeezing back as he tried to smile, Prowl mistook Jazz's gesture for a comforting one. "What happened brought us together, though, Jazz," Prowl whispered. "If there's _any_ good to come from this..." He leaned down, this time gently pressing a kiss to Jazz's pliant lips. "Perhaps it's that I can tell you that I love you, and that I always will."

Jazz's visor flared. "Prowl," he whispered again, his processor spinning. Months ago, hearing this from Prowl would have sent him into overdrive, sent his processor and spark into heady heights of passionate frenzy. Now they reverberated, bouncing around the hollow spaces of his soul that had been left yearning, the holes in his being screaming for another's touch, and for another's love.

It wasn't that he _didn't_ care for Prowl. He did, deeply. Before, Prowl had been the fixture of his world, the mech he was slowly being pulled to, their flirting and attraction building over the years to an eventual culmination that both of them eagerly anticipated. Now, though… Jazz just hadn't _known_ before what he was missing, what he didn't even know he needed. How could he have known that that which his soul yearned for was a Decepticon? It would have been laughable, and he would have checked himself into Ratchet's repair bay in no time flat.

It was undeniable, though, and Prowl's new declaration of love terrified Jazz. How could he respond, when he didn't know up from down, right from left, Decepticon from Autobot? Was he capable of love at all anymore? His spark, his soul, seemed so alien now, so removed from who he was.

"Prowl," he whispered again, biting his lip.

"No, no." Prowl smiled, shaking his helm. "You don't have to say anything." Prowl pressed another kiss to Jazz's knuckles. "You don't have to say anything, Jazz. I know that you're still healing. That you're still working things out. That's fine." He smiled. "Just know that you're not alone. I _believe_ in you. I always have. And I love you."

Silence stretched out, both mechs staring into each others optics. Finally, Prowl leaned down once more, pressing a kiss to Jazz's forehelm. Jazz's visor dimmed at the contact, and he pressed into Prowl's kiss, rolling closer into Prowl's arms. Prowl smiled, a deep hum of contentment rising from deep within him, and his arms rose to encircle Jazz. They stayed molded together, locked in the tenderness of the moment.

Eventually, Jazz shifted, pressing his helm into the crook of Prowl's neck. "We have the day off," Prowl murmured, stroking his free hand down Jazz's back. "Any thoughts on what you want to do?"

Jazz never wanted to leave the cabin, or open his optics. The world was out there with all of the tangled, messy confusion. He just wanted everything to stop. "Something nice," he mumbled against Prowl's plating.

Prowl chuckled. "Well, this is a good start," he said, placing another kiss on Jazz's temple.

Finally Jazz smiled. "Yeah, it is." His smile lingered on his lips as Prowl captured them in another sweet kiss.

Sighing as he pulled back, Prowl's expression shifted. "Even though it is our day off," he said, a slight warning tone to his voice.

Jazz's gaze slid sideways, fixing to Prowl's. He knew that tone.

"Even though it is our day off," Prowl repeated, "we should take a look at that information you have on Shockwave's lab. We need to formulate a strike plan."

"It is good intel."

"It's great intel," Prowl amended. He turned questioning optics to Jazz. "Just how did you manage to intercept it?"

Jazz shrugged, his processor suddenly scrambling for a believable answer. He doubted Prowl would like to hear that he acquired it through selling out their human allies to Soundwave. "I go on drives, you know, to get away." Jazz glanced at Prowl, a questioning look to his gaze. Prowl nodded. "And… I kept seeing Thundercracker flying through this one area, back and forth." Jazz swallowed, and he lifted his hands to mimic the flight path of Thundercracker, trying to dispel some of his nervousness. "He's got to be going somewhere, and since it didn't seem like he was doing aerial flights around our territory, I figured he was running errands." Jazz's hands folded down over his abdominal plating. "I just pointed my array at him and hit record," he said with a smirk, hoping his charm would fake out the rest of his half-baked explanation.

Prowl bought it all. He shook his helm, smiling. "Great job, Jazz," he said softly. "You must go on long drives, though," he added. "The lab is near Seattle."

Jazz froze, his smile etched in ice. He shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Was there a certain time period you saw Thundercracker flying his routes?" Prowl asked, deftly switching to officer mode in a flash.

Jazz scrambled again, dredging through his memories. When had he driven off to visit Soundwave? When was he gone from the _Ark_? "The afternoon, evening." He shrugged.

"Anyone ever with him?"

_All the time_. "Not that I saw."

"No Starscream?" Prowl frowned.

"Not that I saw," Jazz repeated, shaking his helm.

"Hmm…" Prowl mused, turning away as he tried to put the pieces together for himself. Jazz lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. "I wonder if the lab in manned around the clock and Thundercracker is busing supplies back and forth." Prowl turned a questioning gaze toward Jazz.

Lamely, Jazz shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. _Soundwave said the lab was abandoned while Shockwave was on Cybertron_, his processor unhelpfully supplied. "I didn't pick up any signals from the lab."

Prowl frowned. He was silent for another moment as his processor worked over the information. Jazz remained still, immobile. "Tell you what," Prowl said, turning back to Jazz with a smile. "We take our day off and I'll work on the plan from your notes."

Smiling tightly, Jazz nodded. His notes were scribbled from Soundwave's comm message. "Alright," he said, faking his enthusiasm. The pressure, the cloying tangles of his secrets were pressing in all around, and Jazz was desperate to break free of the suffocating panic that threatened the edges of his world. He rolled to his side, pressing against Prowl's body. "That's brings us back to the question of what are we doing on our day off?"

Prowl smiled, his arms encircling Jazz. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked innocently.

Jazz smirked, his seductive grin teasing out to save him from the complications of feeling. He gave in to the moment.

Prowl whispered Jazz's name in breathy gasps against his audial, but Jazz's processor kept pulling up images of Soundwave, kept replaying Soundwave's reverberating baritone, and Jazz had to fight back the urge to cry out his name, calling for the mech he was falling in love with.

* * *

Soundwave's optics roamed over the mess of the _Nemesis_, his gaze seemingly menacing. All the rest of the mechs onboard stayed far away from him. Aside from Thundercracker, Soundwave worked to keep everyone away, letting his natural misanthropic and frigidly wrathful personality sharpen to extremes. It seemed to succeed, and there was a wide swath of empty tables surrounding him, buffeting him from everyone else.

"Hey, Boss!"

It succeeded, aside from his cassettes. Rumble inelegantly flopped into the seat across from Soundwave. Ravage, curled at Soundwave's feet under the table, barely flickered his optics as a venting exhalation sighed from his nose.

"Boring day, today, eh Boss?" Rumble said, taking a long pull from his cube.

Soundwave peered at his cassette. Rumble had been his third creation, his third symbiont reformatted. The annoying and irritating foot soldier of Megatron's had gotten himself well and truly slagged during an incursion in Kaon, and as he lay dying, Soundwave had stared at his rasping, choking breaths, his hiccupping wheezes, and wondered if he could perhaps gain from the miscreant's death. While not a favorite of Megatron's, Rumble had proven himself useful in that he volunteered with an almost stupid enthusiasm for rough missions and espionage expeditions in cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Soundwave had watched the light dim from Rumble's optics, his shallow, wet breaths choking the life from his systems, and made his choice. He reached down, an almost feral sneer curling his lips behind his battlemask, and separated Rumble's spark from his frame.

Rumble was reformatted to be his cassette.

Megatron never said a word about Soundwave's actions. Soundwave wondered if Megatron merely operated on cold efficiencies – the potential loss of a soldier in his movement was mitigated by Soundwave's forced reformatting and enslavement of Rumble. One could have called it murder, Soundwave supposed later. He made no move to call for help for Rumble, no call for a medic. He merely watched him die, then sprung his plan without so much as a word of please or permission from Rumble.

Rumble's processor had been so scrambled from the battle, the violence of his death, and his subsequent reformatting that Soundwave never knew if he remembered the circumstances of his new life. Rumble never seemed to indicate so. He operated as if he'd always been tied to Soundwave, always loyal to his Master, and not, as had been the case, a scurrilous cur who sneered and leered Soundwave's way with threats of violence and insubordination. Ravage and Laserbeak, Soundwave's first cassettes, made by his hands and spark, had hated their new arrival.

Soundwave frowned as he stared back at Rumble. "Location of Frenzy?" he asked. Rumble and Frenzy were rarely ever separated, and when they were, it usually spelled trouble.

"He's fragging off below decks," Rumble dismissed, waving his hand idly. The below decks and cavernous cargo holds were spaces removed from the _Nemesis_ surveillance systems, and the cramped, frustrated, and war-enraged mechs under Megatron's command often wandered down there for slag fests amongst each other. It took the edge off their days and provided an outlet for the contentious and sometimes brutal tensions that raced through the various factions and soldiers under Megatron's command. At the basest level, it reminded them they could _feel,_ when everything else about life had everyone wondering just what was next.

Soundwave was silent. Frenzy, his fourth cassette and made exactly as Rumble had been, was the most unstable of his pack. Something had gone wrong in Frenzy's programming, though Soundwave was never convinced it was from Frenzy's reformatting. Still, he stopped plucking dying mechs out of trenches after Frenzy. Besides, he already had the two mechs who had slandered him and spat at him reformatted to be his blind slaves. It had been a powerful message.

"You will repair any damage," Soundwave droned across the table. Frenzy would no doubt return well and truly slagged, and Soundwave never let his cassettes be repaired by the Constructicons.

"Yeah, yeah," Rumble said dismissively again. He took another pull from his cube, swinging his legs beneath the table. He stretched his leg out, shifting it slightly to the right, and then… _Clang_. Rumble grinned as his foot smacked against the dozing Ravage.

Ravage's optics onlined brightly, and he growled as he shifted away from Rumble's reach. His optics watched his fellow cassette's swinging foot. Not much bite would be needed to take it off.

Soundwave's optics narrowed across at Rumble. "I didn't do nothing!" Rumble protested. Soundwave didn't let up. "Whatever," Rumble grumbled. He took another sip from his cube, slouching in boredom. "Hey, whatta ya doin' with ole Thunder Thinker, Soundwave?" Rumble finally asked, scrunching up his face into a frown.

Soundwave stiffened, and Ravage's optics onlined once more. "Personal activities do not concern you," Soundwave said sharply.

"Personal?" Rumble pressed, surprised. "You're spending time with him on purpose?"

Abruptly, Soundwave stood, Ravage following a moment later. He fixed a steely glare down to Rumble, then turned and stalked out of the mess, his smooth, menacing glide revealing nothing.

"Just a question!" Rumble snapped after him. "Jeez, everyone's being weird lately!" Rumble slumped in his chair, flicking at his half-filled cube before him. His legs swung out again, this time harder, and he finally reached across the table and kicked Soundwave's chair. It clattered backward a few inches, and Rumble smirked before he dragged his cube back and took another long pull.

* * *

Water rained down on Jazz. He tipped his helm back, letting the washrack's spigot spray over his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers playing over his cortical access junction. He was still on edge, still tense about the impromptu medical exam Ratchet had forced on him the prior evening.

"What are you checking for again, Ratch'?" Jazz had asked, nervously perched on the edge of the medberth.

Ratchet had been preparing to insert his medical cable into Jazz's cortical access junction. He sighed, staring down his nose at Jazz. "I'm checking to see if you have any chemical or biological gas in your systems."

"Don't you want to check my intakes first?"

Ratchet's glare turned disbelieving. "You going to let me be the medic, Jazz? Or do you want to takeover in here? I can let you be the medic, you know. I don't need to do this anymore if you know better than I do."

Jazz shook his helm, looking down as he was chastised, and let Ratchet plug in. "Who else was affected?" he asked a moment later.

"Jazz," Ratchet said warningly, already looking behind Jazz at the medberth terminal readouts.

Jazz stayed silent this time. He'd purged as many files as he could, the records of his entrance and exit from the _Ark's_ territory, the comms logs showing his heavily guarded and encrypted communications with proxies around the world, and even his fantasies, locked deep within his processor. Jazz had no idea how deep Ratchet could go with his scans. Simultaneously, Jazz kept up the silent litany in his helm: _Soundwave, don't comm me. Don't comm me. Don't comm me. _It was a new thing, their hidden and subversive comms back and forth, but already Jazz was addicted to the contact with his … lover? No, not yet. Yet? Want-to-be lover, more appropriately.

Sighing, Jazz tried to glance over his shoulder to see what Ratchet was scanning. "Don't move," Ratchet snapped. Jazz stilled, staring down at his hands in his lap, his litany playing over in his helm. What was this all about?

Ratchet's scan burrowed deeper, and his optics narrowed as he mapped the frequencies within Jazz's processor. Jazz's processor map had changed after Soundwave's attack, the natural healing of his systems compensating for the damage and holes wreaked by the intrusion. Ratchet was pouring through those holes now, searching for Soundwave's detritus within Jazz.

Slowly, the pieces began to emerge, echoes of the frequencies of Jazz's attack, and the fragments of the security keys from Soundwave's processor as well. Perfect.

"Almost done, Ratch'?" Jazz asked hoarsely.

Ratchet's optics shifted to the back of Jazz's helm. He'd never seen him so touchy around the medbay, so uncertain of a medical exam before. What had happened to Jazz, deep within his processor, when Soundwave took over his mind? Only Jazz - and Prowl - knew. Jazz hadn't confided in anyone else, but subtle changes belied some sort of sea change within Jazz's being.

Could Prowl be correct? Was Jazz still being used? Was he a vehicle of unsuspecting intelligence gathering? Prowl had quietly and gently steered Jazz way from critical missions, pushing him to work with the human allies and their reconstruction after the Decepticon's brutal attacks, but still, Jazz pushed new and fresh intelligence. Was Jazz unknowingly leading them all into a trap? Jazz's integrity and honor were too strong, his integrity too far above reproach, for any sort of deliberate deception.

Ratchet exhaled and pulled out of Jazz's processor. No matter what was occurring, it was a matter of Autobot safety to eliminate Soundwave. If he could attack Jazz in this way once, he could do it again. He could do it to anyone. "I'm done, Jazz," he said, putting his tools away.

Jazz glanced over his shoulder, a small grin on his face. "Any dangerous gas?"

Ratchet frowned, staring at Jazz's question in confusion. Suddenly, his tired processor flashed, his ruse for Jazz's presence remembered. "You're fine," Ratchet snapped. "Get out."

Jazz nodded without another word and slinked off the medberth. He left silently, not looking back.

"I'm getting too old for this slag," Ratchet grumbled.

* * *

Soundwave stared out the observation deck of the _Nemesis_. All around him was the sea, the black depths of the ocean. The pressures sounded against the hull in never-ending waves and crushes, and the Constructicons were constantly refitting their ship in order to survive in the dark depths. Sea life floated by, monsters wilder than anything seen on alien worlds. Great hulks of the deep and tiny parasites of practically no mass. It was fascinating, the variety of life down in their sunken exile.

Not that Soundwave enjoyed anything about the organic world. He'd never admit to an intellectual curiosity of their watery depths. It paled, absolutely paled, to the cavernous reaches sounding the core of Cybertron. It was merely a passable alternative, and a place with which he could gather his thoughts.

Soundwave's thoughts were firmly fixed upon one mech: Jazz. What was Jazz doing, as he watched the ocean? What did Jazz do during the day? Soundwave wasn't on duty, and his thoughts were free to wander. Was Jazz off duty? When were his shifts?

Soundwave sighed, a passing vent flitting through his intakes. Megatron was ensconced in meetings with Shockwave, Starscream was holding court in his miserable way on the Command Deck, and Thundercracker was with his trine on the upper decks. Soundwave, who could have worked his way to the communications board, didn't feel the need to suffer through Starscream's irrepressible whining. The solitude of the depths appealed to him far more. It allowed his processor to roam.

Inhaling deeply, Soundwave conjured up the memory of Jazz smiling up at him as they kissed. He remembered the feel of Jazz against his body, the warmth of his plating, the slide of his armor. Dimming his optics, Soundwave let his processor go, fantasizing in freedom. His spark yearned alongside each perfect fantasy, crying out for the real thing.

* * *

The Rec Room was indescribably noisy. Other mechs had the shift off as well, including the twins and Hound. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Hound were ensconced in front of the television, all three buried in their video game. Calls of challenge and cries of attack bounced around the room, along with insults and cheers as their avatars scrambled across the screen. Jazz winced at a sudden bellow. He and Prowl were seated at a table in the back, and Prowl was setting up a game of Levels between them.

Finally, the Levels stand was unfolded and their pieces divided, and Prowl gestured for Jazz to begin. Jazz pursed his lips and mock glared at Prowl, his visor flashing playfully. He chose laid the first piece of his level. Back and forth they went, Prowl answering his movements as he tried to build his own structure and dissuade Jazz's. Gentle jabs and idle conversation passed between them, soft laughter stretching out as the game wore on.

Eventually, Sideswipe wandered their way, and he pulled out a chair and swiveled it around before he straddling it in a slouch.

Jazz glanced his way. "What happened to the big battle?" He jerked his helm toward the television, where Sunstreaker and Hound were still duking it out between them, smack talking each other wildly.

"I died," Sideswipe sighed, propping his chin in his hand. His optics raked over their game. "This is a way better game anyway."

"You don't know how to play Levels," Prowl scoffed.

"Yes I do!" Sideswipe cried. He studied Prowl's move and frowned, then twisted to peer at Jazz, his optics glittering. Jazz reached for his piece and almost laid it on the corner of his structure, but a heavy, obvious cough from Sideswipe stilled his movements. Jazz shifted his piece, but Sideswipe coughed again, this time shaking his helm slightly. Prowl's optics narrowed as he glared at the display. Grinning, Jazz waved his piece slowly over the whole board until Sideswipe's expression changed, right over Prowl's slowly building corner.

"What are you doing?" Prowl snapped, glaring at Sideswipe. "No interference!"

Jazz carefully set his piece down on Prowl's Levels, and his structure teetered unsteadily before the whole thing wobbled and collapsed beneath itself. Prowl groaned, throwing a dirty sidelong glare to Sideswipe while Jazz and Sideswipe cheered. Jazz slapped Sideswipe's hand in a high five.

"I told you I could play!" Sideswipe crowed. "I've tried to play with you before."

"I didn't think you were serious," Prowl grumbled, collecting his pieces. He threw a good-natured glare across the table to Jazz. Now he'd have to restart his constructions from scratch, or build off of Jazz's fledgling creation.

Sideswipe grinned again, beaming at Prowl, and suddenly, Jazz _saw_, truly saw, Sideswipe's smile. His mouth dropped open as he gasped softly, his gaze taking in Sideswipe's shining, bright optics, his bounding cheeriness, and his complete and total absorption in all that was Prowl. A host of memories flooded his processor: all of Sideswipe's pranks, his mischief, his repeated bothering of Prowl. Jazz's optics flew to Prowl, staring wildly at his lover.

Prowl frowned. "Everything alright?"

"What's up, Jazz?" Sideswipe was staring at him now, an open, questioning look in his gaze.

Jazz merely shook his helm. He smiled tightly, still reeling from this new knowledge, this revelation that he should have known about all along. Jazz swallowed, turning his attention back to Prowl. Prowl was smiling at him, utterly oblivious to Sideswipe's optics on his profile, the light shining out as Sideswipe watched the SIC, or the tiny smile grazing over Sideswipe's lips.

"Your move," Jazz said softly to Prowl.

With a snort, Prowl placed his new piece, trying to rebuild his losses. Sideswipe slumped in his chair once more, resting his elbow on the back of the chair and leaning his chin against his palm. He watched the game, glancing at Prowl every so often with a soft gaze and a warm, small smile.

Just as Jazz was reaching out to lay his new piece, his internal comm crackled to life, a small burst of static whispering before the comm message. _"Soundwave to Jazz."_

Swallowing, Jazz's optics blazed behind his visor. His helm tilted to the side as he tried to focus, and he laid his piece down quickly before responding in a data burst. "_Hey there."_

_"Jazz: in public?"_ Soundwave questioned the data burst.

Jazz glanced at Prowl across the table, then looked away. Prowl was debating his next move and Sideswipe was trying to direct his movements with the waggling of his optic ridges. Prowl resolutely ignored Sideswipe, despite Sideswipe's increasing theatrics.

"_I am_," Jazz messaged back.

_"Understood. Message brief."_ A shiver raced down Jazz's back as Soundwave's voice tickled over his spark and the sensual areas of his processor.

_"It's fine,"_ Jazz replied. "_I like hearing your voice."_

Silence, for a moment. Then Soundwave spoke again. _"Jazz… is missed."_

Jazz had to look down quickly, stare down at his pieces as he swallowed and tried to stifle the beaming smile that broke over his lips. He wasn't fast enough.

"What's so funny?" Sideswipe asked, leaning toward Jazz.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his helm. Prowl finally completed his move with minimal arguing from Sideswipe and it was Jazz's turn again. He laid his piece, not caring where it went and no longer interested in the game. Turning within, Jazz comm'd back to Soundwave. "_I really miss you too, Soundwave."_

_"Our next meeting: eagerly anticipated."_

_"When do you think we can meet again?"_ Jazz watched Prowl lay down his next piece as he tapped one of his own against the table, fast-paced. Sideswipe was heckling Prowl again and they were slowly working into a good bicker. Jazz's silence went unnoticed.

_"Unknown,"_ Soundwave droned sadly. _"Thundercracker's status: much improved. Meeting dependent upon duties. More time sought together."_

Jazz nodded, frowning, then inhaled as he caught himself. He laid another piece, faking intense concentration on the game. "_I've been thinking about you all day. What are you doing?"_

Prowl had noticed his silence and was peering softly across at Jazz.

_"Presently: off duty,"_ Soundwave said. _"Thoughts consumed with Jazz as well."_

Jazz bit his lip as Prowl played his next move. Jazz's foot bounced up and down beneath the table. "_You're off duty? Now? So am I."_

Stunned silence gave way to Soundwave's voice, sounding more excited than Jazz had ever heard. _"Able to meet?"_

_"I'll find a way,"_ Jazz comm'd back. "_Meet in two hours?"_

_"Affirmative,"_ Soundwave replied, his baritone almost breathless.

Jazz swallowed and glanced up, finally meeting Prowl's gaze. Concern lined Prowl's optics, and he silently asked a question with his caring stare. Jazz smiled thinly and looked down, tapping his piece once more.

Glancing sidelong at Sideswipe, Jazz saw his way out. He rested his piece on the tabletop in front of their half-finished game. Prowl's gaze turned questioning as Jazz stood, stretching his arms behind his back. "Sideswipe, why don't you sit in for me?" Jazz asked, turning to the red twin. Sideswipe's expression bloomed, happy surprise whisking across his face. Jazz gestured for Sideswipe to move to his now-vacant chair. "I think I need some fresh air. I'm going to head out for a bit, go for a drive…" He trailed off, glancing at Prowl. It was his oft-used excuse, one he hoped Prowl would still buy.

Sideswipe, for his part, enthusiastically embraced Jazz's departure. He slid into Jazz's seat with an excited smile. He'd asked over and over again to play Levels with Prowl, and never, not once, had Prowl taken him up on his offer. This was a dream come true, and even though he wasn't Prowl's first choice of player, and never would be, for the remainder of this game, Prowl would be all Sideswipe's.

Prowl stood as well, moving to Jazz and pulling him aside to speak in private. Jazz stiffened, trying to not meet his gaze. "Jazz," Prowl began softly. He paused, then smiled, reaching out to grip Jazz's shoulder. "Take all the time you need," Prowl said, just as soft. "I know you need your space, and your time, and these drives have been helping you. I know. I can see it." Prowl squeezed Jazz's shoulder. "I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Jazz froze. His spark churned wildly, uncertain of what he was feeling, whether it was gratitude or shame, happiness at his escape or a desire to slink back to his dark hole and escape the world . Jazz swallowed and tried to speak.

"Go," Prowl whispered, cutting him off. "I understand." Jazz nodded, squeezed his hand once, and fled the Rec Room.

Prowl watched him go, sighing. He loved spending time with Jazz, and slowly they'd been able to spend more and more quality time together. Jazz was healing, thank Primus, and Prowl clung to that.

"Ready to play?" Sideswipe's wide, warm optics turned up to Prowl. All his pieces were all stacked in lines, ready to be placed on top of Jazz's. He was so very much looking forward to this.

Prowl shook his helm, his interest in the game well and truly gone. "I'm sorry, Sideswipe. I've got some things I need to take care of." If Jazz was going to be gone, then Prowl could be productive. He needed to lay out that plan for raiding Shockwave's lab, for one. "See if someone else will finish the game with you." Prowl nodded and left without a word.

Sideswipe's cheerful expression melted slowly from his face. Prowl marched out without looking back, walking out on Sideswipe's long-held hope. Disappointment, and more than that, chastisement for his folly, flooded Sideswipe's spark. He stared down at his pieces, his optics dimming.

"Teach me to play," a gruff, familiar voice suddenly choked out.

Raising his helm, Sideswipe's dim optics met the tight lines of his brother. Sunstreaker held his optics, an apologetic, angry grimace faintly curling down one corner of his mouth. A frown creased his forehelm. Across the Rec room, Hound watched in confusion; Sunstreaker had popped up seemingly out of nowhere to run to his brother.

"You don't even like this game," Sideswipe whispered, dropping one of the pieces he had been fingering. It clattered to the tabletop noisily.

"Teach me," Sunstreaker said again. He picked up one of Prowl's discarded pieces and frowned at the half-finished game. "Whatta you do?"

Swallowing, Sideswipe reached out and guided his brother's hand to the rising levels. "The object of the game is to build a perfect geometric structure." Sideswipe gestured for Sunstreaker to place his game piece on the emerging creation. "We both try to build it, and we try to block or tear down each others."

Sunstreaker nodded at Sideswipe's simple explanation. He peered at the structure, eyeing it up before looking back at his brother. "Your turn."

* * *

Jazz blazed down the roadway, his gears flying, then braked and banked hard to the turnoff leading off the _Ark's_ territory and toward their grove. His engine was flying, screaming, and the roar and rush of energy throughout his body pounded through his systems and circled his spark. He was physically and emotionally driving away from everything behind him, putting as much distance as he could between his spark's desires and his all too real life.

Roaring over the dusty trail, Jazz let dirt, pebbles, and branches crack and fly beneath his tires. Finally, when the trail was too craggy to keep driving, he reverted to his root mode, climbing the rest of the way to their grove on foot. Overhead, Jazz heard the roar of a Seeker's engines, and the sound brought a smile to his face. He paused, catching sight of Thundercracker's silhouette high above, his hands on his hips. He smiled again. Soundwave was coming.

By the time Jazz entered their grove, Soundwave had disembarked from Thundercracker and the blue Seeker was lifting off again, roaring away. Soundwave stood on his side of the clearing, watching Thundercracker's flight against in the sunlit sky. Jazz smiled, taking in the sight. "Soundwave," he called warmly, catching his attention.

Soundwave turned, his battlemask retracting. They moved toward one another, Jazz's arms spread wide, and Jazz embraced Soundwave as they met in the center. After a stunned moment, Soundwave's arms wrapped around Jazz and Jazz nuzzled his face against Soundwave's neck. "This is just what I wanted," Jazz moaned.

Glancing down, Soundwave's mouth briefly twitched up unnaturally at the edges. His lips parted happily, his emotions freely playing over his face.

Jazz pulled back from his impulsive embrace. His hands wandered down Soundwave's chest as he smiled. "So, nothing evil being planned on the _Nemesis_? No treachery in the Decepticons?" Jazz teased.

Soundwave's visor blazed. "Treachery: assured. No more evil planned than the in Autobots," he teased back.

"Autobots don't do evil," Jazz quipped.

Soundwave's visor blazed again, but he said nothing. His lips quirked up once more, briefly. "Jazz: something acquired for you," he finally said, stepping back a few paces. Jazz's glanced at him, confused, until Soundwave started up the sequence of music he had pirated from human radio stations. He'd scanned the satellite feeds until he'd found the perfect mix of music, and Soundwave had recorded hour's worth of the music that reminded him so much of Jazz.

Mournful, anguished blues fell from Soundwave's speakers, long notes underscored with a meandering harmony and melody. The music was a force of nature, emotions and yearnings and passions rolled around each and every note. It filled their grove, echoing around the trees of their sanctuary. Jazz sighed in bliss, his helm lolling back on his shoulders as all the tension fled from his body. "Oh, Soundwave," he murmured, letting the music flow through him. "This is perfect." Slowly, Jazz's body began to sway to the beats.

Joy shot through Soundwave's spark. It was such an alien, fleeting feeling, and it burned his being, it was so powerful. Another quirk of his lips, and Soundwave's optics fixed to Jazz's body and his swaying hips. Jazz's fingers began snapping as he grooved into the music. Jazz's movements were intoxicating, and Soundwave's systems began to heat.

Jazz grinned. His hips were moving and grinding in time with the beats, fingers snapping and feet slowly shuffling back and forth. It wasn't a fast dance, or even an intricate one, just spark-led grind back and forth, but the music led the way. "Dance with me, Soundwave," Jazz called out, motioning for Soundwave to join him.

"Negative," Soundwave said shyly, shaking his helm. His optics burned as they watched Jazz. "Watching preferable."

"Oh really?" Jazz grinned, slowly sashaying his way toward Soundwave, grinding to the beat of the music as the song switched, a new blues tune belting out, this with more of a baseline then the previous. Jazz's hips picked it up immediately, digging into the bass.

Soundwave's optics blazed. He inhaled, sharp and quick.

"You like watching?" Jazz asked, dragging his words out slowly.

Frozen, Soundwave nodded as Jazz slid flush to his body. His engine surged, but his servos and gears locked up, paralyzed at Jazz's sensual grind against his hips. "Is this okay 'watching?'" Jazz whispered, smirking.

Soundwave nodded dumbly. "Acceptable," he croaked, his engine roaring. Jazz was grinding and sliding against him, up and down, the heat of his systems transferring to Soundwave's.

Grinning, Jazz continued his seductive dance, each note that fell from Soundwave's speakers seemingly perfectly placed there for the pitch, sway, and grind of their bodies. A long, low riff led to Jazz's full body purr against Soundwave's plating, and the tapping out of a soft, slow rhythm on the trumpet had him encircling Soundwave's neck with his hands.

Through it all, Soundwave remained frozen, caught between desire and fear. How he _longed_ to pull Jazz to him…

"Soundwave," Jazz whispered, too-deep. "_Please_… touch me!"

Soundwave's hands flew, encircling Jazz in his crushing hold as he tried to pull Jazz as close to him as his spark. Their scorching plating seared together, and an instant later, Soundwave's lips sought out Jazz's. Hungrily, panting and in need, they devoured each other, refusing to break contact as they collapsed into the other.

Panting, Jazz's arms wound around Soundwave's neck, and his hands cupped around his helm. "Don't ever stop," Jazz whispered, his voice two octaves too low.

Soundwave groaned as his hands stroked up Jazz's flanks, then wrapped around his back, pulling him tight. He gasped into Jazz's kiss, his features contorting in pained bliss. "Jazz!"

Jazz gasped as well, throwing his helm back before pressing his helm against Soundwave's, panting with a wild smile. One of his hands stroked over the back of Soundwave's helm and neck. "I've dreamt about this for so long," Jazz panted.

Gasping, trying to cool his intakes, Soundwave stared up into Jazz's gaze, dazed. Everything was happening so fast, all his wildest, perfect fantasies, and all he could do was cling on as his body and spark erupted. Soundwave had no idea if he could stop, or where Jazz was taking them, or if he could even survive this torture. "Jazz…" Soundwave choked out, lost somewhere on the edge of desire and madness. He wanted this, _needed_ this, needed _Jazz,_ but he had no idea if he was going to survive this love at all.

Jazz's optics met Soundwave's, both of their gazes burning behind their visors. "I _need_ you," Jazz whispered. "I _want_ you so badly. This is _my_ choice, Soundwave, _mine_. To have you." He leaned forward again, a gentle kiss falling from his lips, and it was the sweet tenderness that finally broke Soundwave's last terrified barrier. They were coming together, just the way it was never, ever meant to be.

Was it their first time? Or their innumerable one? Did all their lovemaking in their other reality count? Jazz supposed his body didn't think so, but the burn was pleasant, a reminder that this was _real_, and Jazz relished every moment of it.

Soundwave couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move at all, merely tried to record, memorize, perfectly capture every detail, every image, every sound of the moment. Jazz's groans, so perfectly exquisite. The arch of his back, the angle of his neck as his helm was thrown back in rapture. The light of love in his optics. Soundwave had to have it all, every bit of the memory, and he greedily absorbed as much as he could.

Slowly, not wanting to rush, Jazz moved over Soundwave. Their kisses were soft and tender, a counterpoint to the gentleness of their lovemaking, the soft slide of their bodies and souls into and through one another. It lasted, the passion smoldering, stoked by hidden fantasies, burning desires, and secreted wishes. Jazz poured everything out, all his wants and needs, all his cries in the dark, all his lonely nights wishing desperately for the arms of his cupped Soundwave's helm in his hands with every kiss.

Soundwave's hands roamed, stroking over Jazz's hips, up his back, and down his arms, trying to map every inch of his lover's perfect body. It had been a long time, an exceedingly long time, for Soundwave. It took him a while, but eventually he moved in time with Jazz perfectly, drawing gasping grunts of pleasure from his lover. Soundwave kissed him fiercely, wrapping one hand around Jazz's helm in a tender hold.

Jazz wailed, screaming into Soundwave's kiss as he spiked too high. Soundwave groaned, long and low, and then collapsed, seemingly every one of his gears failing. He fell on top of Jazz with his helm resting over his spark.

For a long moment, neither mech moved. Their grove was silent, and only the sound of a bird, chirping far in the distance, broke the afternoon stillness.

* * *

Prowl placed the finishing touches on his and Jazz's plan to attack Shockwave's lab when the comm came in from Ratchet and Wheeljack. "Prowl, we've got the simulations for the virus up and running. Want to see?"

Half an hour later, Prowl stood with the two of them in Wheeljack's lab, the door locked and code-secured, and watched as Wheeljack demonstrated the virus's capabilities on a simulated Soundwave. The virus burrowed into the host mechs' systems, welcomed with the access granted from the security keys, then spread out in colonies, infecting every subsystem and command protocol. The virus turned the processor against itself, forcing the malicious code to create sparking damaged, altering the electron flow and twisting the power supplied within the delicate systems of the mech's processor. What was software damage and bad code became hardware damages in an instant, forcing the processor to overclock, to surge, to run too hot without coolant. The slowly-starting electrical damage exploded into a full meltdown of the critical systems and cortical array. At the end, the model Soundwave was irreparably destroyed, burned and melted from within. The digital Soundwave collapsed, dead.

"This is a terrible thing we've created," Ratchet grunted. "One of the most evil."

Prowl's doorwings arched high, and he turned a cold optic to Ratchet. "What happened to Jazz, Ratchet, was quite evil."

"Does it justify this?" Ratchet's helm dipped toward the screen. "This is escalation."

Prowl's doorwings fluttered before he gestured to the rotating image of a very dead Soundwave. "Jazz felt _exactly_ like this, and it's only through his pure strength that he's managed to fight back," Prowl growled.

Tilting his helm, Wheeljack stared at Prowl. "We can have this fully programmed in a few weeks," he said softly. "Then it's in your hands."

Prowl nodded, his gaze growing hard. "Program the virus. Build a separate subsystem to build it in though, totally separated from Teletraan One. We can't risk this running loose in our system."

Silently, Wheeljack nodded. The weight of their mission was sinking in, the physical proof of Soundwave's soon-to-be violent death playing on the viewscreen. "I'll expect it in two weeks," Prowl said tightly.

* * *

The afternoon sun had slid down to graze the horizon, the forest aflame with the setting sun's burning rays. Vibrant reds and golds shimmered through the trees, and the grove burst alive with bird calls and the flutter of wings.

Soundwave held Jazz close, his arms wrapped around Jazz's body and Jazz's arms around Soundwave's arms, their hands linked together. Soundwave's lips trailed down Jazz's audial horn, soft kisses pressing into his plating.

Jazz sighed happily, his soul finally at rest, his spark peacefully content as they watched the sunset together. "Let's build a ship," he whispered. "Let's fly away from here. Away from this planet. Away from this war."

"Agreeable," Soundwave whispered back, his baritone voice deepening the edges of his words. "To where?"

"Anywhere."

"Fuel?"

Jazz smiled, his whimsical side taking over for a tease. "We won't need fuel," he whispered again, smiling. "We'll just live on love."

This time, Soundwave did smile, a faint, small smile truly curling up the edges of his lips. "Extremely agreeable," he whispered again, kissing Jazz's audial horn. Jazz shivered at the contact, and he rolled in Soundwave's arms.

The sun continued to set without the lovers, and the grunts and gasps and soft whispers of exclamation joined the twitter of the songbirds as the night descended.

* * *

Prowl leaned against the doorframe, watching Jazz as he stood beneath a spigot in the _Ark's_ washracks. Jazz had been gone all afternoon and into the evening and Prowl was just beginning to get worried when Teletraan beeped that Jazz was back on board. He'd gone straight to the washracks, and Prowl followed him after a moment. A small smile played over Prowl's lips as he watched Jazz, his optics offline and his visor dim, helm tilted back as the water cascaded down his body, raining over his face.

Slowly, Prowl walked over to Jazz.

His footsteps finally registered in Jazz's audials, and Jazz's optics onlined with a flash, his helm whipping around in a wild stare. "Prowl!" Jazz gasped, sputtering in the waterfall. "Didn't see you there!"

Prowl smiled, stopping just outside Jazz's spray. "Did you have a good time?"

Swallowing, Jazz nodded, his gaze sliding away from Prowl. He hid it by throwing his face back into the water, shaking his helm and splashing his hands over his face. He never wanted to leave Soundwave's side, and only Thundercracker's return had reluctantly pulled them from each others arms. Jazz couldn't resist, and he had kissed Soundwave passionately in front of Thundercracker. The Seeker, for his part, merely shook his helm and sighed good naturedly. Thundercracker smirked at Soundwave, clapping him on the shoulder in the most open display of friendship they had ever shared.

Prowl smiled again, happy to see Jazz back, safe and whole, and seemingly much more relaxed than when he had left. His optics followed the droplets of water as they cascaded down Jazz's body. He reached out, fingers dragging over Jazz's back.

Jazz twisted away. "Don't," he said, swallowing. "You'll get wet." Prowl shrugged, but stayed out of Jazz's spray. "What have you been doing?" Jazz asked after a long moment.

"Not much. Finished our strike plan for Shockwave's lab. Caught up on some reading. Chatted with mechs."

"Who won the game?"

Prowl frowned. "Game?"

"Between you and Sideswipe. Levels?" Jazz's hands, full of suds, wandered over his lower body, dipping into his creases and between his legs. He shivered at the contact, his over-sensitized parts screaming at the touch.

"Oh, we didn't play," Prowl said dismissively.

"No?" Jazz turned to glance at Prowl as he rinsed himself off, trying to erase all evidence of his lovemaking with Soundwave.

"No." Prowl shook his helm. "I had other things to do."

"But Sideswipe wanted to play," Jazz said, reaching out to palm off the water. The spray stopped, the racks suddenly silent, and Jazz stood dripping wet, staring at Prowl.

Prowl arched his optics ridges. "I highly doubt that Sideswipe is reliant upon me for his entertainment," he said, reaching for a towel from the racks against the wall. He shook it out, then spread it wide for Jazz. "Here, let me help dry you off."

With a smile of thanks, Jazz crossed over to Prowl and allowed himself to be folded into the soft towel. Prowl's arms wrapped around his body, rubbing the towel over his plating gently, and Prowl's face dipped against his neck, nuzzling him with a sigh. Jazz shifted, not sure if he wanted to run or sink into Prowl's arms, but Prowl pulled back, staring at Jazz with bright optics. His hands rubbed over Jazz, drying him off in the thick bundled towel.

"There's a movie tonight in the Rec Room," Prowl finally said. "Want to go? Hang out with the crew for a while?" Prowl's arms held him in a gentle hug from behind, his chin resting on Jazz's towel-covered shoulder.

Jazz nodded silently, letting his helm fall back to rest against Prowl's. Prowl smiled, then pressed a kiss against Jazz's helm before he stepped away. All at once, Jazz felt adrift, and he inhaled deeply to try to steady himself. Everything was moving too fast, too crazily, his world spinning off its axis, and Jazz didn't know which way was up or down. He felt like falling, again, the free-fall of terror and horror and being out of control.

"Everything alright?" Prowl's arm reached out, his hand at Jazz's lower back, a steadying touch.

"Yeah," Jazz murmured, faking a smile. "Just tired."

* * *

The movie was fun, a new action flick released only the week before. Bumblebee wouldn't admit to how he'd gotten the disc, and the crew didn't ask any questions. Everyone had a good time, lounging around on chairs and the couches as they watched en masse, some mechs heckling and jeering while others kicked out at the talkers and threatened them to shut up or else. Bluestreak wedged himself in next to Sunstreaker, and by the end of the movie, Sunstreaker had lost all interest in heckling the movie and instead was focused on whispering in Bluestreak's audial. Bluestreak, for his part, leaned heavily against Sunstreaker, holding onto Sunstreaker's hand draped over his shoulders as he grinned and sometimes giggled. Sideswipe, wedged on the other side of Bluestreak, tossed the two dry looks of disapproval mixed with tired, overdramatic sighs.

Jazz rested against Prowl, half leaning into his lap and against his chestplates as Prowl's arm slung around his shoulders. Half way through, Prowl's helm tilted to rest against Jazz's, the both of them seemingly at perfect ease and contentment in each others arms. Prowl's fingers gently stroked over Jazz's forearm, idle patterns of loving touches.

For his part, Jazz's thoughts were lost to the film, instead fixed entirely on Soundwave… his lover. They were _lovers_ now, loving each other, making love and… in love? Jazz didn't know the answer to that one. Soundwave was the answer to his spark, the echoing reverberation of his soul, the partner he never knew he needed, never knew he craved. Soundwave was _different _from everything he'd known, different enough to spin Jazz's world in an entirely different way. It wasn't his novelty, nor his Decepticon heritage. It wasn't the newness, since Jazz had felt, in their other reality, as if he'd loved him for years. Even now, there were times when Jazz felt as if they had been together for years instead of only… hours.

No, there was something about Soundwave's _soul_, his spark, that thing of darkness, that called out to Jazz, filling in all the unseen and unknowable parts of his own spark and soul. He felt _whole_ with Soundwave, _alive_, as if in touch with the wholeness of his self, as dark and terrifying as that was. Jazz was capable, fully alive, fully competent, with Soundwave. Without him, he was unbalanced, and he didn't even know it until Soundwave had been ripped from him, torn out of their fake reality, their telepathic fantasy.

Jazz shifted in Prowl's arms, and Prowl pressed a kiss against Jazz's helm.

Jazz sighed. He wondered what his lover was doing. What would their life be like, if they could be together? Could they ever relax together, lounging in each others arms? What did Decepticons do to relax, unwinding after a long shift? A pang went through his spark, mournful and wanting, and Jazz hoped Soundwave missed him as much as he did. How long until they could meet again? It was already too long.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, life on board both the _Ark_ and the _Nemesis_ seemed deceptively normal. No one was the wiser to the irrevocable shift that had occurred within their ranks, the sealing of a desire and a dangerous passion that knew no limits.

Jazz sneaked out of the _Ark_ as often as he could under the guise of his processor-clearing drives and, explained after the fact, secretive intelligence gathering operations that no one knew anything about. His life was measured in the time gaps between seeing Soundwave; 3 days, 12 hours, 5 minutes… 5 days, 2 hours, 17 minutes… 1 day, 3 hours, 6 minutes. He couldn't get enough, not ever, and when he wasn't with Soundwave, Jazz's processor was one hundred percent fixed on to his lover.

Thundercracker could barely believe what was occurring. He ferried Soundwave back and forth from his meetings with Jazz, seemingly every other day, in something of a state of shock. Thundercracker had _seen_ the two of them together in Soundwave's fantasy, had seen them seemingly so deeply in love and deeply connected. That was a far cry, however, from the Soundwave and Jazz that existed in reality as enemies separated by factions and bitterness and rage. How, in the space of two months, could terrible enemies turn to the deeply beloved? Seeing their kiss, and then Soundwave nearly breathless and floating with unexpected exhilaration, had startled him deeply, but Thundercracker couldn't shake the companionable happiness he felt for Soundwave. Thundercracker could see the difference in Soundwave's optics, in the subtle difference of his high-held shoulders, and as he watched Soundwave's gaze turn distant one day on the Command Deck, Thundercracker knew that Soundwave's loyalties weren't so firmly fixed and intractable as they had once appeared to be.

Soundwave was as different as he was the same. On the _Nemesis_, he was as menacing and formidable as ever, crushing mechs away from him with his dark presence and aura of wrath and ire. In the grove, however, Soundwave was a different mech, seemingly hesitant, nervous around Jazz, as if wondering if the love offered was truly meant for him. He had no experience with this at all, and there was an aspect of grace within Jazz's love that Soundwave still shied away from, not believing he deserved it. That wasn't to say Soundwave didn't yearn for the totality of Jazz's love. He did, to the depths of his soul and the full fractal reach of his spark, and that hope, that painful, quiet hope stayed with Soundwave even when he tried to hide it. Soundwave's soul had been mapped and charted, the compass rose pointing straight to Jazz and _not_ to the Decepticons.

Jazz, Prowl, and a small strike team raided Shockwave's old research lab one night, bursting into the cold, cavernous space in full battle glory. Jazz, who already knew the place was currently unoccupied, waited as Prowl and Red Alert secured the facility before they started detailing the totality of the Decepticon's research. Perceptor, brought along as science advisor, was jammering away in his science speak, exclaiming over each new find. Jazz had glanced through bins of discarded scrap, looked over blueprints to new weapons, and stayed on his secret comm with Soundwave the entire time. The bulk of the lab was transported back to the _Ark_, where Perceptor and Skyfire dove in gleefully.

Prowl's declaration of love seemed to shift his and Jazz's relationship, and Prowl was far more overt about his displays of open affection toward Jazz. Prowl never pushed on Jazz's solitary time, though. He never wanted to infringe on Jazz's healing, and whatever Jazz was doing out there, it was helping him. Once, in a moment of curiosity, Prowl had sent a reconnaissance drone after Jazz, but after following Jazz's meandering drive out into the badlands surrounding their _Ark_ for almost an hour, Prowl had shut down the drone in a crushing wave of guilt. How was Jazz supposed to trust him if he acted just as the Decepticons? Prowl was supposed to be Jazz's solace, his sanctuary, and not his fear.

As Prowl waited patiently for Jazz to return at a decent hour, Jazz groaned and moved in Soundwave's arms, the delicious, heavy pressure filling his soul in a way no one else could. Soundwave buried his helm in Jazz's neck, mouthing and sucking on his lines and plating before groaning through their release.

Afterward, as they lay intertwined and panting, gazing into each others optics and speaking soft words of fantasy and desire, Soundwave turned their conversation back to the cold harshness of reality. "Jazz," he began, his voice deeper. "Information shared about Autobots: incredible." His fingers, locked with Jazz, squeezed tight. "Thundercracker especially pleased." Jazz smiled, though his optics were guarded. He'd betrayed one faction for another, and he could only hope that that wouldn't return to haunt him. "Reciprocal information offered," Soundwave continued.

"Reciprocal?" Jazz frowned.

Nodding, Soundwave pressed his lips tightly together before withdrawing a pad from his subspace. Wordlessly he passed it to Jazz. Jazz stared at the information as it scrolled over the screen.

"This…" Jazz glanced up at Soundwave, his mouth dropping open. "This looks like the schematics to the Combiners…"

Soundwave nodded. "Affirmative. Schematics to the Gestalt teams. Included: target points for gestalt dismemberment to component mechanoids."

Jazz's optics poured over the information. "This is fabulous, Soundwave…" he whispered. The Decepticon Combiners were always a mortal threat to the Autobots in battle. "Thank you," he breathed.

"Loss of life: prevented," Soundwave said awkwardly, shifting. It was strange, so very, very strange to be thinking in a new way, to work together with other mechs, and to value another being and their thoughts, feelings, friendships, and loyalties as high, or higher, than his own. Jazz didn't just show him what love was, by forcing him to feel it, _painfully_, day in and day out. Jazz forced Soundwave's world to be remade, reborn, all of Jazz and his world suddenly worth _more_, _loved_ more, cherished more than his entire history. Loving Jazz defined a revolution in Soundwave's world; loving Jazz was a salvation.

Jazz stopped reading the pad and turned back to Soundwave, staring at him for a long moment. Finally, Jazz lifted his hand and cupped Soundwave's cheek, his thumb brushing over his plating. Soundwave's battlemask was retracted, and Jazz's hand slid between the guards and Soundwave's soft dermal plating. Soundwave leaned into Jazz's touch. "Thank you, Soundwave," Jazz whispered. He smiled, still stroking Soundwave's cheek, then pulled himself into Soundwave's arms before lowering their lips together for a soulful, tender kiss.

All at once, Soundwave shifted, rolling Jazz over and lying atop him, pinning him to the ground with his body as the combined forces of passion, painful desire, and a too-powerful love surged through his spark. Jazz grinned, and his leg slid up to wrap around Soundwave's hips.

Much later, when Jazz finally returned to the _Ark_, Prowl was relaxing in the Rec Room with the other off-shift mechs, sitting apart and watching the twins battle the mini bots in yet another chapter of their years-old piston pissing. Though Prowl spent time with the other mechs, he didn't interact with them, and as everyone else laughed and chatted happily amongst each other, Prowl slowly nursed his cube and watched the Rec Room doors, waiting for Jazz to return.

A burst of cheering from the television, and Prowl turned to see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stand and cheer before clapping each other in a high five and a hearty backslap. Prowl smirked at the display, and at Cliffjumper's disgusted expression. Briefly, Prowl's optics met Sideswipe's and he dipped his helm once in an acknowledgement of their victory. Sideswipe grinned, opening his mouth as if to call out to Prowl, but Prowl turned away, glancing back to the Rec Room doors. Sideswipe stayed silent.

Jazz, freshly washed, headed from the washracks to the Rec Room, unconsciously switching his mental process from Soundwave to Prowl, from traitor and passionate lover to loyal Autobot officer and devoted partner. He ruthlessly kept himself divided, kept his emotions and passions playing on two separate tracks within his helm, two separate aspects of his unconsciousness. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, Jazz wouldn't be able to take it, not the lying, the cloying pressures, the stresses, or the unforgiveable betrayals he was wreaking upon everybody. Best to just not think on it at all.

Occasionally, Jazz wondered to what end he was headed. To what point and purpose were his actions? If his soul cried out for Soundwave, then what was he doing? But, how could he ever _be_ with Soundwave? He could no more go to Soundwave than Soundwave could come to him. Prowl was safe, secure, and _there, _and the one thing Jazz couldn't be was alone. Again, he pushed those thoughts as deep as they would go, buried in his processor.

Squaring his shoulders, Jazz entered the Rec Room.

Prowl beamed as he saw him, rising from his chair to greet Jazz with a light kiss. Smiling, Jazz accepted the waiting cube and settled down next to Prowl, tucking his hand around Prowl's elbow as he shifted close. Prowl's spark fluttered, and his hand came to rest over Jazz's, his thumb stroking over Jazz's plating softly.

Later, Prowl kissed his way down Jazz's chest as Jazz writhed beneath his lips. His helm fell back, arching, and he moaned aloud, his fingers digging into the berth surface. Unbidden, Soundwave's image popped into his helm, and Jazz offlined his vocalizer to not scream Soundwave's name.

* * *

"Alright, let's go around the deck. Department heads, report." Prime waited patiently as he glanced around the table. The Command Staff were all present for their weekly briefing, and one by one the reports started. Prowl, at Prime's right, took notes of the pertinent info and actionable intelligence. Finally, it was Jazz's turn, and everyone's gaze shifted to him.

Jazz grinned as he tapped his pad against the tabletop. "I've got another good one," he drawled, glancing around the table. His optics fixed to Ironhide. "How would you like to know the perfect target zones for bringing down the Combiners?"

Gasps filled the room as mechs stared at Jazz. Smirking, Jazz pressed the transmit button on his pad, and the information wirelessly fed to the rest of Command Staff's pads. Wheeljack read eagerly. Prowl stared down at the information in shock.

"This is incredible," Ironhide grunted, his optics shining. "We can finally take them out!" Excited chatter filled the wardroom as everyone began talking at once, sharing with their neighbor and gesturing wildly.

"Where did you get this?" Prowl asked Jazz, leaning forward as he frowned across the table. "How could you possibly have acquired this?"

Jazz shrugged nonchalantly. "I did," he said, dismissing Prowl's question. "And it's accurate."

"This is…" Wheeljack looked up, shaking his helm in shock. His audial fins were still on, still bright. "This is very detailed information, Jazz. Design specs, blueprints, engineering diagrams, electrical circuits… I couldn't create this if I had to reverse engineer the Combiners myself."

"Be glad you don't have to do it then," Jazz grinned, tilting his helm Wheeljack's way. Ratchet, next to Wheeljack frowned as Wheeljack shook his helm.

"But how did you _get_ this, Jazz?" Prowl repeated, his voice stronger, more firm. "How can we know it's accurate if we don't know where you got it?"

Silence fell over the wardroom, all the mechs' optics trained on Jazz. Prime leaned back in his chair, studying Jazz carefully.

"What is this?" Jazz scoffed. "You never ask me these questions!"

"I just want to know how you got this information," Prowl pressed, his doorwings fluttering. "It's almost too good to be true."

"You know, we specifically created rules to _not_ reveal how and where I get my information, Prowl," Jazz snapped back, growing irrationally irritated. "Protection of intelligence sources, remember? Protection of tactics? In case there's any sort of leak or intrusion anywhere?"

Ratchet inhaled sharply, his lips thinning, and he peered at Jazz with slitted optics.

"You need to get approval for any of your missions, Jazz," Prowl said, his voice continuing to rise. "That's regulation as well!"

Jazz's sighed explosively, exasperated. "I'm not coming back to the _Ark_ for permission if I happen to come across great intel while I'm outside!"

"And where do you go when you leave?" Ratchet asked, folding his hands over each other on the table's surface.

"Out," Jazz snapped, glaring at Ratchet for a long moment.

"The point remains, Jazz," Prowl continued to press. "You cannot operate on your own, running your own missions without command review."

"What's the big deal?" Jazz shouted, frowning as he leaned forward. He threw his arms wide, indignant.

"You are not even supposed to _be_ out collecting intelligence at all," Prowl chastised, his voice rising in volume as his doorwings hardened, vibrating along his backside.

"Why not?" Jazz cried. He threw his hands up in the air. "I can't just sit here and be useless-"

"Because things have changed!" Prowl shouted, slamming his hand down on the table. "You were hacked!"

Silence filled the room, deathly still. Not a vent or whisper or the tap of a pad was heard.

Jazz's lines iced over and his visor burned. "So that's, it, huh? You don't trust me?"

Swallowing, Prowl shook his helm. "No, Jazz, that's not what I meant-" His voice was quiet, subdued, apologetic.

"Then what did you mean?" Jazz was vicious. "What could you _possibly_ mean, Prowl?" He spat out Prowl's name, mocking.

"We are all trying to protect you, Jazz," Prime said, speaking powerfully in his deep timber before Prowl could utter a word. "We want to ensure you are protected from any sort of repeat attack. Placing you so far out on the front lines exposes you once again to such a brutal experience."

Silence again rang deafeningly through the wardroom. Jazz swallowed, caught between a mixture of rage and chastisement, irritation, petty and mulish, and a sudden pang of guilt. They had no clue what had happened to him, and their protective nature seemed too personal, too kind for himself, it was at the same time a collar of restraint upon his freedoms.

"We'll test this intelligence," Prime continued, looking across to Wheeljack. "And we'll hold to our previous regulations on the protections afforded intelligence gathering operations." Prime nodded to Jazz and Prowl. "However, all future intelligence missions will be cleared through the proper command authority, as it is also directed by regulation." Again, Prime's gaze hardened to Jazz. "Understood, everybody?"

Nods and a small chorus of "yes, sir's," rang out around the table. Jazz stared down once more, the anger and irritation lapping in powerful waves against his spark. Prowl, for his part, tried to catch Jazz's optic, an apology in his gaze. Jazz wouldn't look his way.

As the meeting ended, Prowl stood and made his way to Jazz's side, concern etched across his face. "Jazz," he began softly, speaking quietly as he stood by Jazz's side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I was surprised." Jazz didn't look Prowl's way, instead tapping out angrily on his pad, his lips pressed in a tight line. "Jazz, can we-" Prowl began, sighing.

"You know, I think I've had just about enough of your telling me what to do today, Prowl," Jazz snapped, finally twisting around to glare at Prowl. His gaze was cold, and he picked up his pad before turning his back on Prowl and stalking out of the wardroom. Prowl stared after him, his face scrunching up in irritation at himself and concern for Jazz. Mentally kicking himself, Prowl trudged to the Command Deck.

"Prowl, sir…" Sideswipe's helm cocked to the side as he listened in to the feed at the comms station. "We're getting some funny reports from the humans…"

Prowl sighed. "What kind of 'funny reports,' Sideswipe?"

All at once, Sideswipe's optics blazed bright. "They're under attack, sir!" he said quickly. "It's a distress call. The Decepticons are stealing oil from a pipeline in Montana! Williston Basin!"

Instantly, Prowl was back in his officer mode, all personal thoughts pushed aside. He crossed to Sideswipe's side immediately. "Williston Basin? They canceled our security contract a few months ago." _After Jazz's attack,_ Prowl's processor reminded him unhelpfully.

"Well, they're calling for help now," Sideswipe said, pulling up the feed for Prowl to hear. "They found a Decepticon team tapping their pipeline. They tried to stop them, and then the 'Cons called in backup."

Prowl nodded, determination hardening his gaze. "Sound the alert. Get Skyfire on the deck. We're heading out."

* * *

The Decepticons did not want to relinquish their oil supply at Williston Basin. It had been a reliable, though surreptitious, stream of raw material for energon conversion, and the humans discovery of their raids did not fit their plans. Starscream merely wanted to slaughter the lot of them and be done with it, and he was well on his way when the Autobots showed up. Prime and Ironhide led the ground squads in while Prowl led the ranged fighters to a higher vantage point.

Jazz, quietly going frantic over the battle and the silence from Soundwave, stayed with Skyfire to provide aerial recon for the troops below. Secretly, he was also scouting the battle for Soundwave.

The twins wasted no time in preparing themselves for their classic attack, lying in wait to spring the Jet Judo trap on the Seekers as the jets dropped low for a strafing run against Ironhide. The older mech sat out as Seeker bait, inviting and trying to incite their wrath. It worked, and the jets barreled down on Ironhide, ignorant of the twins.

As one, the twins leapt, flying through the air and landing squarely on the backs and wings of Thundercracker and Skywarp. Beneath Sideswipe, Thundercracker gave a loud grunt, then an angry snarl as he began tossing and trying to shake the twin from his plating. Skywarp howled, cursing bitterly as he surged ahead, trying to shake Sunstreaker from his plating even as Sunstreaker slammed his fist through Skywarp's cockpit, shattering the glass.

Prowl followed the twin's movements through his sniper scope. "Alright, let's concentrate fire on supporting Prime and Ironhide. Fire at will." Bluestreak and Smokescreen echoed acknowledgements as their sniper rifles charged up, heavy hums filling the air all around with crackling charge. Above, Jazz circled with Skyfire, calling down to both Prowl and Prime the location of the Decepticon soldiers and their movements around the basin and the battlefield.

- o - - o - - o -

It didn't take long for Thundercracker's wrath to bloom as Sideswipe started beating and pounding on his frame. Jazz's words echoed throughout his processor, and he sent a quick data burst to Skywarp. _Use a little electric charge. Scare 'em with a shock._ Skywarp's gritty, angry determination was all that flooded back to him.

Thundercracker pulled up, slowing down, and let his rectifier fall offline as his step up transformer surged, the normally-taken-for-granted circuit component within him responsible for controlling the massive increases in power consumption and the regulator to prevent overcharging working in tandem. He could feel the heady rush immediately, and Thundercracker twisted, barrel rolling quickly and knocking Sideswipe from his feet. Sideswipe's hands clung to Thundercracker's wings as he grunted, gritting his denta to hang on through sheer force of will.

_Perfect,_ Thundercracker thought. He let his circuits go, surging the power throughout his frame in a slightly-dangerous internal burn. The electricity scorched his entire body, sending a powerful jolt through his plating. He gasped at the crazed fritz, and hoped it worked.

It had. Sideswipe screamed, a wrenching, painful rasp as electricity tore through his body. He was lying nearly flat out on Thundercracker's wings, and the full force of the surge bounded through his entire body and every one of his systems.

Grimacing, Thundercracker sent another surge through his body. He felt Sideswipe's grip weaken with his first surge. Perhaps a second would finish the twin's assault.

As the second surge struck, Sideswipe reflexively let go, somersaulting in agony through the air as he plummeted. His systems were seizing, heaving, crazed and discombobulated from the rushes and surges of Thundercracker's power. He was gasping as he fell, struggling for breath, for air, and two thoughts crossed his mind at once: _Ratchet always said this would kill us_, and _I never told Prowl_.

It happened too fast for the mechs on the ground to react, but Prowl saw it all through his scope: Sideswipe's fall, the twisted, terrible way he plunged, and the complete lack of any sort of reach for his jet pack. "No," Prowl gasped. "No, no, no!" He watched as Sideswipe fell, finally disappearing behind the basin's lip where he couldn't see. Prowl's optic caught on Sunstreaker high above and Starscream closing in fast. "Concentrate your fire on Starscream!" Prowl shouted, his voice ragged and angry.

- o - - o - - o -

Skywarp was howling, and he banked hard, turning and blasting as fast as he could to try to peel Sunstreaker from his body. Thundercracker gave him a happy chirp, quickly letting him know how to dislodge the Lamborghini. Skywarp grinned, ignoring Thundercracker's electrical measurement. He duplicated the procedure, but surged his systems to nearly double of what Thundercracker recommended. Just before he let his circuit go, Skywarp caught sight of Starscream, barreling toward him.

"C'mere, sunshine," Starscream hissed over their trine comm, his voice full of wrath. Starscream burst a short comm across to Skywarp, instructing him to hold still for a fragging second. Skywarp pulled up level, and unleashed with his electrical ravagement into Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker jerked, completely shocked to the core, his body losing full functionality in an instant. His systems fritzing wildly, his spark rhythm completely thrown off, Sunstreaker stumbled backward on Skywarp's wing.

At that moment, Starscream opened fire.

His first shot caught Sunstreaker in the shoulder, the second in his abdomen. His next series of shots burst over Sunstreaker's thighs and legs. Sunstreaker struggled to breathe, and his vision swam as his processor misfired again and again. Skywarp banked a hard left, and Sunstreaker lost his unsteady footing entirely, pitching over the side of Skywarp like a paper doll and plummeting to the ground below as the pain of Skywarp's assault bounded through him, along with the burning of a hundred ruptured lines.

"No!" Prowl shouted again, watching Sunstreaker plummet from Skywarp's wings at far too high an altitude. Next to him, Bluestreak and Smokescreen both hissed, then unleashed with fury against the Seekers. The flyers managed to evade their shots, and they climbed hard into the sky. Still, it kept them from chasing the twins down, and Sunstreaker fell without being struck by enemy fire.

"Skyfire! Get to the far side of the Basin! Autobots down!" Prowl shouted into the comm unit. "Ratchet! Medical Emergency!"

Ratchet's sharp retort spat back across the comms as he transformed, blazing heedlessly through the center of the battle as he raced to the twins side. Prowl couldn't see the twins, didn't know how badly they were damaged, but he'd never seen either of them take the sort of plunge they just had. The twins had performed that attack countless times, and countless times they'd come home fine. What had happened this time?

- o - - o - - o -

Jazz sat silent, watching in horror as Skyfire raced to the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker crashed and burning on the far side of the Basin. They were unresponsive, barely breathing, sparks only faintly pulsing. Their armor was twisted and scorched, burned in wide swaths across their entire body, and Sunstreaker's leg had been torn clean off at the impact. Sideswipe's helm was scorched and blackened on the right side, a burst of fire and energy having blazed too close to his processor. Ratchet was already at their sides, working as fast as he could to stabilize their systems when Skyfire landed.

"Jazz, help me!" Ratchet shouted, motioning for him to help grab the twins and haul them into Skyfire's cargo hold. Skyfire was a laser magnet, and they only had precious moments before he would start taking the brunt of the fire of the battle. "We have to get them back to the _Ark_ before they both die!"

Numb, Jazz nodded, and though he ran after Ratchet and scooped up Sideswipe's burned, battered, and broken body, he moved as if in a nightmare, the sounds of the battle seemingly far off, his and everyone's movements slowed down to fractions of any sort of speed. Each inhale was a lifetime, each terrible thought an eternity. _This wasn't supposed to happen!_ Jazz thought, screaming in his helm.

All he could feel, all he could sense, was the smell of the twins' burning bodies, the melted rubber, scorched wires, and crackling paint peeling from their plating. It lingered, overpowering through everything else as Skyfire lifted off and Ratchet began ordering Jazz to help him save the brother's lives.

* * *

"How could you?" Jazz bellowed, his voice hoarse and raw as he shouted at Thundercracker in their grove. "I trusted you!" he snapped. "You weren't supposed to break them!"

Thundercracker's optics flashed as his jaw clenched. "What am I supposed to do? _Ask_ them to kindly get off me?" He shook his helm, disgusted.

"I gave you that information to _help_ you!" Jazz shouted again. "You were just supposed to scare them! To get their attention!"

"I think I got their attention this time," Thundercracker sneered.

"You _killed_ them!" Jazz bellowed, shaking. "They _died!_ Ratchet had to jump their sparks five times on the way back to base!" Inwardly, Jazz shuddered, his rage swirling with the agony he'd felt as he had tried to help Ratchet, the medic racing back and forth between two brutally injured mechs. Jazz had been trying to stem the flood of energon from Sunstreaker's shorn leg as Ratchet cursed, trying to keep their sparks pulsing in a steady rhythm instead of the fluttering, feeble pulsations they had fallen into.

Thundercracker sneered. "Am I supposed to _care_?" he spat. "They've nearly killed _me_ dozens of times! A little payback is due!"

Jazz reeled back, his jaw clenching. Soundwave, standing in between the screaming pair of mechs, felt the darkness deep within him erupt in a primal scream of raw rage. Slowly, his optics slid sideways to Jazz, staring at his lover.

"Payback was not the point of what we're doing here," Jazz hissed, bitter, terrible anger poisoning his tone.

"Point?" Thundercracker scoffed. "What point?" He gestured rudely toward Soundwave and Jazz. "You two _frag!"_

Soundwave whipped around toThundercracker. Jazz snarled, his denta bared wildly, and only the barest restraint held him back from lunging at Thundercracker and finishing what Sideswipe had started.

"Negative," Soundwave intoned darkly, his voice cold. "Thundercracker: insisted upon _point_, _purpose_ to liaisons." Thundercracker's meddling and prodding of him to seek out Jazz, to meet him in the grove and to pursue him after their reality, had been the catalyst for their actions. Soundwave would have stayed in his isolation for eternity, nursing his dark fantasies in solitude if not for Thundercracker's appeals to a higher purpose, a higher calling, a point to his love beyond simple obsession.

Again, Thundercracker snarled. He reared back, his arms spreading wide. "The _point_," he said, sneering, "is to _survive_!"

"Negative!" Soundwave snarled, advancing on his friend. His visor turned dark. "Point: to survive _together_. Rebuild Cybertron in unity and strength." Soundwave bore down on Thundercracker, looming above him.

Thundercracker stared up at Soundwave, his gaze turbulent. How their roles had reversed, so, so much. "We don't need those fragging Lamborghinis," Thundercracker hissed through clenched denta.

"I really don't fragging need _you_, either," Jazz snapped, standing behind Soundwave. "Or your _trine_. But I helped you, Thundercracker, because you're important to Soundwave." Jazz's lip curled upward. "Primus only knows why," he spat rudely.

Thundercracker's optics slid to Jazz, narrowing. "Without my _trine_, there's no hope for any sort of change," he drawled, scathing anger dripping from his words. "You _need_ me."

Jazz stepped forward, pushing himself well into Thundercracker's face. "I don't need you for anything," Jazz hissed.

"Need: mutual," Soundwave rumbled, his voice dark and murderous. He stared down at the two mechs, his optics nearly black with the surge of emotions racing through his spark, deadly and powerful. "Future to be built: requires _all_." It was strange, if Soundwave stopped to think about it, that throughout the entirety of his life, these passions, these surges of dark, rushing emotion, cascading in rivers of agony through his soul had always stemmed from the loss of his freedoms, the crush of obligation and alliance, ties made among other mechs. Now in this moment, the tide of his entire life shifted, and Soundwave suddenly was trying to recapture the tender wisps of their never-there alliance, holding it together in his hand like rust sticks and smoke to make a spark. The change would have been disorienting, damaging, horrifically disturbing, if it hadn't been wrapped around what had become the new purpose in his life: Jazz.

Silence, and the heavy, hissing breaths of two raging mechs met Soundwave's pronouncement. Soundwave held Jazz's gaze, their dark optics searching others as Thundercracker turned away. His wings trembled and his helm tilted back onto his shoulders as he sighed explosively.

"I cannot control Skywarp," Thundercracker finally said, turning around to face Soundwave and Jazz once more. "I cannot control his attacks. I tried to tell him to use less power, but he wouldn't listen."

"What about Starscream?" Jazz asked, his voice still hoarse.

Thundercracker shook his helm. "I never told him. I didn't even tell Skywarp until we were trying to shake them off our wings today."

Jazz looked away, his expression tumbling around itself as he fought his angry emotions. "Sideswipe still fell from _you_," Jazz finally said, twisting back to Thundercracker.

"He lost his footing," Thundercracker said. "I wasn't actually trying to kill him. I just wanted him _stop_. Do you have any idea how painful those attacks are?" Thundercracker snapped, then sighed. "You know, we are at _war _with each other. This isn't some sort of game!"

"I am well aware of that," Jazz hissed.

Thundercracker continued as if Jazz hadn't spoken. "I cannot control what my trinemates do to your mechs out there, not unless things _change_, or we tell them about _this_." Thundercracker's emphasis left no room for doubt of what he meant.

"Negative," Soundwave droned, hissing his words through his clenched denta.

Thundercracker ignored Soundwave. "If you want your mechs to survive, you're just going to have to get them to change tactics. They survive, and we survive." Thundercracker paused. "That was the point, right?"

Jazz's visor brightened with anger and irritation. "They'll just find another way to shoot you down."

"And we'll just find another way to bomb and strafe you all," Thundercracker replied, spreading his arms wide. "Nothing changes."

"Negative," Soundwave hissed in the silence that followed, his voice too deep and low, tinged with the stain of his dark soul's wrath. "Change will come. Patience required." His gaze blazed, burning into Jazz's optics before he turned to Thundercracker. "Need: mutual."

Silence and tension filled the grove, not even the birds daring to make any sound at all.

* * *

The soft chirping of the _Ark's_ medbay monitors thudded into Sideswipe's processor, echoing in low, warbled whomps. Slowly, too slowly, and painfully, Sideswipe began to online, forcefully pulling himself from the drug-filled slumbering depths of his medical recharge and back to the waking world. The last thing he remembered was clinging to Thundercracker's wings… and then shouting… and falling!

Sideswipe struggled to sit up, but a hand pressed firm to his chest suddenly held him down.

"Easy there, Sideswipe," a quiet voice said, speaking tiredly.

Dazed, Sideswipe's helm rolled to the side. He saw Sunstreaker, lying on another medberth and blearily onlining as well, but no mech stood between him and his brother's berth. Sideswipe frowned, then, figuring he ought to check the other side of his berth, slowly rolled his helm over again. A static bandage, fixed across his forehelm and the side of his exposed processor, crackled with his movements.

The fuzzy and difficult-to-see outline of a black and white doorwinged mech appeared next to Sideswipe's berth, one arm blurrily stretched out with a white hand pressed against his dirty red chestplates. Sideswipe frowned, peering at the blurred figure, then followed the arm down to the white hand. There was only one mech he knew with what looked like doorwings and a white hand. "Prowl?" Sideswipe croaked.

"Easy, Sideswipe," Prowl repeated gently. "You both need to rest."

A low, heavy groan came from Sunstreaker's berth, and his helm lolled toward Prowl's voice. Sunstreaker's processor wasn't as badly damaged as Sideswipe's, the brunt of his injuries having been sustained from Starscream's shots and his terrible fall. His chestpiece was removed, his protoform half-welded and still in the process of repairs. His left leg below the hip was gone, the messy tear surgically finished by Ratchet. Sunstreaker stared at Prowl, a heavy frown creasing his expression. "Prowl?" he grumbled. "What happened?"

Prowl withdrew his hand from Sideswipe now that the red twin was calmer and lying back again. "You two were injured in the last attack, very badly. It seems Jet Judo has finally met its match."

Glowering, Sunstreaker rolled away and stared at the ceiling. Sideswipe, for his part, was still trying to figure out what planet he was on, and if he could truly feel all ten fingers, or if there was somehow an eleventh and twelfth one there as well. "Prowl?" Sideswipe choked out, his voice raspy. One arm jerkily rose, trying to reach for Prowl. He missed entirely. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Sideswipe, I'm here." Prowl grimaced, watching Sideswipe's difficulties. "You need to rest."

"You came to see me?" Sideswipe's boundless optimism crept in despite everything else.

Chuckling, Prowl nodded. "I came to see how you both were doing. Ratchet managed to put you both back together somehow and I needed to see the proof with my own optics."

Sighing, Sideswipe's voice turned wistful. "I'm not dreaming?"

Prowl stared down at Sideswipe, a confused smile on his face. "You're not dreaming, Sideswipe. And, if you are dreaming about _me_, you have some serious processor damage that you need Ratchet to take care of." Prowl's doorwings flickered ruefully.

"They're nice dreams," Sideswipe insisted, his voice trailing off. His hand reached again for Prowl, but all he managed was to sloppily stroke Prowl's hip.

"You're a masochist," Prowl chuckled.

"Not on purpose," Sideswipe whispered, his helm wobbling on the berth surface. "I don't wanna be a masochismist…" Sideswipe mangled the wording as his helm shook slowly, his voice fading in and out.

"Prowl?" Sunstreaker butted in, calling out from his berth and interrupting his brother before Sideswipe made a complete idiot of himself. "Is anyone else coming to check on us?" Sunstreaker's voice choked off.

Prowl paused, hesitating. Sideswipe's hand stroked over Prowl's hip, veering dangerously toward his abdomen. "All your friends send their well wishes, guys," Prowl tried.

"Prowl," Sunstreaker repeated, almost growling. "Anyone else coming?"

Prowl sighed, trying to step away from Sideswipe's wandering hand. Sideswipe whimpered at the loss, and Prowl looked away from Sunstreaker's questioning, burning gaze. Bluestreak, when Prowl had last seen him, was firmly seated on the couch in the Rec Room in between Smokescreen and Tracks, watching the evening news report of the Decepticon attack. He was not, in any way, headed to the medbay. "No," Prowl said softly. "I think Ratchet is putting up a visitor block anyway-"

Sunstreaker looked away, no longer listening to him. He had his answer.

"Prowl," Sideswipe whispered, his hand clanking against Prowl's plating again. Prowl sighed and looked down. Sideswipe was staring up at him with a blitzed, dreamy expression. "I'm so happy you came to see me…" Sideswipe whispered.

"I come to see every member of the crew when they're in medbay," Prowl retorted, moving Sideswipe's hand back to his medberth.

"It will be our little secret," Sideswipe whispered, trying to squeeze at Prowl's hand. His processor wasn't coordinated though, was still damaged and misfiring, and Sideswipe couldn't get his actions right, nor his thoughts.

"Sunstreaker," Prowl tried to begin, stepping away from Sideswipe's berth.

"Just forget it, Prowl," Sunstreaker snapped. "You should go. Sideswipe needs rest. He's totally tanked."

Sideswipe, who still couldn't see, watched the blurry shape of Prowl silently fade from his limited field of vision. Sideswipe sighed just as Prowl left the medbay, and he rolled his helm back to Sunstreaker's berth.

"Sunny, he came to see me!" Sideswipe whispered excitedly. Sunstreaker grunted, not looking at his brother. "Prowl!" Sideswipe whispered again. "Prowl came to see me."

"Shut up, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker grumbled. Part of him wanted to be vicious, to remind his brother that Prowl visited everyone, that Sideswipe wasn't special. He couldn't be that cruel, not to his brother though, not even when he was in agony.

"Sunny," Sideswipe whispered again, caught between wistful and mournful. He tried to see his brother, but the distance between their berths and his damage turned Sunstreaker into a yellow shaped, angry blob.

"Do you understand," Sunstreaker began through clenched denta, his voice wavering. "I would give _anything_ to see Bluestreak walk through those doors." He snarled. "And _Prowl_ comes to see _you_."

Sideswipe, still reeling on a combined high of Ratchet's meds, Prowl's visit, and his processor damage, struggled to sit up from his medberth. Sunstreaker ignored Sideswipe, lost in his pain, until Sideswipe tipped out of his berth and began stumbling across the divide toward Sunstreaker. "Sideswipe!" Sunstreaker shouted. "What the slag are you doing? Get back to your berth!"

Sideswipe shook his helm, walking with his arms extended to feel out for Sunstreaker's berth. "Whoo…" he murmured as the rushes hit his processor. He nearly tipped to the side. "Sideswipe!" Sunstreaker shouted again, just as Sideswipe ran into his berth.

"Made it," Sideswipe grinned. He started inelegantly clambering into Sunstreaker's berth, his hands feeling the way. "Move your leg, Sunny."

"I don't have a fragging leg anymore," Sunstreaker growled.

"That's nice." He heaved himself into Sunstreaker's berth finally, then collapsed into Sunstreaker's side, giggling.

"What the frag are you doing?" Sunstreaker hissed. "Go away!"

"C'mon, Sunny," Sideswipe whispered, nuzzling into his brother's side. He pressed his face into Sunstreaker's shoulder. "I'm here."

"You should be over there."

Sideswipe giggled. "But I'm here now. Where we're meant to be. Together forever," Sideswipe sighed. Sunstreaker growled and tried to shift away from Sideswipe, but Sideswipe clung fast. "Let's just forget the rest of the world, Sunny. Let's just have it be _us_ from now on. Forget Blue. Forget Prowl…" Sideswipe's helm was shaking as he whispered into his brother's cheek. "It's always been us anyway."

Sunstreaker growled wordlessly, but he stopped trying to peel away from his brother. "I'd miss the fragging," he grumbled.

"'Least you got some," he whispered conspiratorially. Sunstreaker snorted, finally letting his helm fall back against his brother's. "Forget them all, Sunny. It's just us."

"From now on?"

"Yeah." Sideswipe shifted, burrowing closer to his brother.

"Your boyfriend was here earlier, though, don't you want to see where that goes?" Sunstreaker teased darkly. Still, he lifted his arm, letting his brother slide closer.

"He likes Jazz," Sideswipe whispered, as if sharing a secret when he was overcharged. The whisper echoed around the medbay.

"Well..." Sunstreaker pretended to scowl down at his brother, but it was ruined by Sideswipe's guileless, blitzed expression of joy. "I've been stuck with you all these years," he grumbled. "Guess a few more won't kill me."

Sideswipe smiled and wrapped his arm around Sunstreaker's waist. "Everyone always says such nice things to me," he sighed happily.

Sunstreaker snorted again, but said nothing as Sideswipe finally powered down from his exertions and dropped back into recharge. He watched, pensive, as Sideswipe's optics dimmed and fell offline. His brother had been the _one_ mech, the only mech, to never, ever let Sunstreaker down.

There were worse things, he supposed than being stuck with Sideswipe for the rest of his life. Sunstreaker pressed his cheek against his brother's helm and started up his own recharge initiation sequence.

* * *

Jazz sped down the highway, his gears pushing hard. Anger and bitterness still scalded his lines, irritation at Thundercracker, rage at their situation, and frustration at the whole of reality that kept him from doing the one thing he wanted to do. Jazz was just slagged off and tired of everything. A one way trip to the moon sounded good right about now. Or a dive to the bottom of the ocean.

He'd left Soundwave and Thundercracker after a tense cease-fire, and there had been no tender kisses or words of love and cherishment this time. Instead, Jazz had had to leave before he did something he regretted - like shoot Thundercracker - and he waved away Soundwave's wide, dark optics and pleading glances, agreeing that he'd comm him tomorrow with an update on the twins. A part of his spark protested at Jazz's mulish behavior. _Soundwave didn't have to ask after the twins_. Still Jazz's petty anger and irritation reared large, and he left Soundwave in the dust as he sped away.

Prowl had comm'd on his drive, quietly asking Jazz to meet him somewhere where they could talk. After a long moment, Jazz agreed, and Prowl transmitted a set of coordinates that took Jazz down the highway to the coast.

Finally, as he neared the beach encampment, Jazz saw Prowl's silhouette against the setting sun. His doorwings were low, almost waving in the ocean breeze, loose and exhausted as he stood on the bluff with his hands on his hips. A lump of emotion lodged in Jazz's spark at the sight. Prowl, in that moment, looked beautiful, more beautiful than he had seen him in months.

"Hey," Jazz said, walking up behind Prowl.

Prowl turned and smiled tiredly, gesturing for Jazz to join him at his side. "I just came from the _Ark_," Prowl said. "The twins are going to be alright."

Jazz slumped, all the way down to his frame. "That's great," he whispered. "That's great."

"Anything in your sweeps?" Prowl believed Jazz had been out running scans of the airwaves, searching for any Decepticon signals. Jazz shook his helm. Prowl nodded, and silence settled over the pair.

Finally, Prowl spoke again. "Jazz, I want to apologize for this morning-"

Jazz shook his helm, cutting him off. "No, Prowl," he said. "Don't. Just don't. Not after today." Jazz sighed, looking down as he kicked the dirt. "Let's just forget it, alright?" He looked up, meeting Prowl's tired gaze with a soft smile.

Prowl nodded, and he smiled back at Jazz. Together they sat down on the bluff amid the sea grass and the sand, gazing out over the ocean. The tension and anger started to ebb from Jazz's spark, leaching out into the ocean waves and the sea breezes that caressed both of their plating. "This place is gorgeous," Jazz whispered.

"I've been wanting to take you here for a while," Prowl said, glancing sidelong at Jazz. "The timing never seemed to be right."

And the spark-deep pain returned, briefly stabbing Jazz's soul once more. He pushed it away ruthlessly. "I'm sorry about that," he choked out. "I haven't been a good partner to you..."

"You're fine, Jazz," Prowl said, leaning sideways into Jazz's shoulder. "I told you, I'll wait for you for as long as you need."

Nodding, totally unable to speak, Jazz leaned into Prowl's touch. Prowl wrapped his arm around Jazz's shoulders and they stared out over the ocean together in companionable silence. Jazz's helm tilted, resting against Prowl's shoulder, and Prowl's helm followed, lying against Jazz's helm.

After a long moment, Prowl shifted, and he gently lifted Jazz's chin with his finger, smiling as he brought their lips together in a tender, sweet kiss. Jazz smiled around the kiss, and behind them, the setting sun burned the sky as their lips pressed and molded together.

High above, circling in the sky, Laserbeak beamed the footage back to the _Nemesis_ and to Soundwave, watching on the feed in his quarters. Soundwave had been worried, spark-wrenchingly so, about Jazz, and he couldn't shake the need to feel him, to be around him, to see and to touch and to be with everything that was Jazz. He'd dispatched Laserbeak, and for hours, all Jazz had done was drive.

And then he'd met Prowl.

"Negative…" Soundwave whispered. The kiss stretched on onscreen, painfully long, painfully loving. Jazz's hand rose, cupping Prowl's cheek. "Negative…" Shock and terrible anguish colored his voice. "_Negative…"_

Deep within, the dark scream, that flood of rage and agony and bitter, twisted hatred exploded from his spark. It had been buried, near forgotten with the benediction of Jazz's love, with the sweetness of a new life, with redemption in the form of Jazz. Now, it surged free, sure of its power and passion, sure of the rightness and justice of its feelings, sure of the weakness of Soundwave's new spark and tender emotions.

"_Negative…_" Soundwave whispered again, desolation wreaking his tone.

As it always was for Soundwave, agony - bitter, terrible, and hateful - was where his spark belonged.

* * *

Ratchet stared at the readouts on the Teletraan screen. It was irrefutable. The battle damage analysis of the twins' injuries showed definite evidence of how they were attacked, how they were _killed_. They _died_, and only Primus knew what had brought them back. Ratchet never wanted to relive those moments in Skyfire's hold, racing back and forth between both dying, near-lifeless twins.

With Jazz. He'd been with _Jazz,_ in Skyfire's hold. Ratchet swallowed, his emotions too powerful and contradictory to be understood. He tapped a few commands onto his terminal. "Teletraan, display Jazz's present location."

Teletraan spat back the information. _Autobot Jazz is not on board the _Ark_._

Ratchet's spark jumped as his tanks churned. It was too damning, to terribly damning. But could it be true? Were all of Prowl's fears correct?

"Teletraan, display Prowl's current location."

_Autobot Prowl is not on board the _Ark_._

Ratchet swallowed, leaning back in his chair as he exhaled. He pursed his lips, tapping his fingers against his desk. "Notify me immediately when Prowl returns."


	11. Chapter 11

**Fracture Mechanics 11**

* * *

Ultimately, Ratchet ended up working with Wheeljack until the early morning, trying to rebuild Sunstreaker's leg and recode Sideswipe's damaged processor. The defrag program for Sideswipe wound down just past two in the morning, and Ratchet returned from Wheeljack's lab to the medbay only to find the twins ensconced on Sunstreaker's berth, wrapped around each other and peacefully offline. He hadn't had the spark to wake them.

Instead, Ratchet went back to Wheeljack's lab, where Wheeljack was putting the final wiring into place within the armored frame of Sunstreaker's new leg. He settled in for the long haul, working on recoding the portions of Sideswipe's processor that had been damaged, burned, or fragmented from the Seekers' attack. Unseen on his terminal was a flashing notice, Teletraan's update that Prowl had returned to the _Ark_ just before midnight.

"We'll be able to reattach Sunstreaker's leg in the morning," Wheeljack said tiredly, sometime past three AM.

"It _is_ the morning," Ratchet grunted.

Wheeljack's audial fins flashed. "Well, later this morning," he said, stretching his shoulders. "We'll attach the frame and then build the armor plating on top after we've run the functionality tests."

Ratchet nodded, well used to repairing Sunstreaker. It wasn't the first leg he'd had to reattach to the golden warrior. It was the first time that Sunstreaker hadn't carried it back to the medbay himself, however. It was the first time that Sunstreaker had died under his hands. Again, the curl of frustration and anger bubbled up within Ratchet, and he remembered his summons of Prowl through Teletraan. "Frag," he muttered. He swallowed. Could it truly be true? Was Jazz passing information on to the Decepticons unwittingly? Just how deep did Soundwave's penetration of the Autobots truly go?

One thing was for sure: Ratchet owed Prowl, who he had thought was overly protective, overly cautious, and overly aggressive, an apology. It seemed Prowl might just be correct after all, regarding Jazz.

Wheeljack stood, stretching his backstruts. "I finished the virus," he said. His audial fins barely flashed.

Ratchet started, staring at Wheeljack. He hadn't confided his doubts about Jazz to anyone, not even Wheeljack. Instead, he'd tried to push them away, pretend they didn't exist, at least for a while. "That's good," he grunted, standing as well. He punched at the codes on his pad, using too much force. They'd be using the weapon now, for certain. Before, he had thought that perhaps Prowl wouldn't go through with the plan, but now… Ratchet exhaled forcefully, a heavy sigh falling from his vents.

"You alright, Ratch'?" Wheeljack frowned at his friend.

Ratchet shook his helm, shaking Wheeljack's concern away. "I'm fine," he grunted again. His pad beeped, confirming the transmission of his work back to the medbay. "I've got to run by the medbay and download these patches to Sideswipe's processor." He quirked a tired smile to Wheeljack. "Get some rest, 'Jack. I'll see you later."

Wheeljack nodded, his audial fins flashing again. Suddenly, his optics crinkled at the edges, teasing. "Do you think we should pre-paint his leg?" he asked, gesturing to Sunstreaker's dismembered limb.

Ratchet snorted. "Nah, we'd just do it wrong. He'll pitch a fit."

Wheeljack's optics flashed. "Let's paint it purple with orange polka dots," he said conspiratorially.

Chuckling, Ratchet waved him away with his pad. "Get out," he snapped lightly. "I can't believe I'm defending Sunstreaker."

Laughing, Wheeljack waved and padded out of the lab, rolling his shoulders and his neck as he went, trying to loosen up the stiffness. In the silence that remained, Ratchet's smile and teasing mood faded, and he was plunged back into the world of his dark thoughts, of his confusion, his back and forth, and his dreaded uncertainty regarding Jazz. _What if it was true? _Was Soundwave lurking within the Ark, hiding in Jazz's mind?

What if he wasn't? What then did that portend?

Shaking his helm, Ratchet forced the whole mess out of his mind for a little while longer. His priority was his patients, and he had to get back to the both of them. Tapping his data pad against his free hand, Ratchet headed back to the medbay.

* * *

Jazz and Prowl had stayed at the beach until well after the sun had set and the moon had risen, high and full in the clear night sky. They didn't talk much, instead just sitting together, lost in their own thoughts and sparks. Prowl relished the feeling of Jazz at his side, taking comfort in their closeness. His mind spun on, refusing to let go of the troubles of the day. The humans were crying havoc over the Decepticon incursions at the oilfield, and no matter how many times he and Prime had reminded them that they had canceled their security contract with the Autobots, no one wanted to listen. It seemed they needed to head back out and try to settle the situation better the next day, but Prime had ordered a full fall back to the _Ark_ to deal with their injured. Prowl's thoughts then turned to the twins, recovering in the medbay. Ratchet had been a flurry of activity, coarse words, and vicious snarls, and Prowl had only been able to sneak a few minutes in to check them both over. How had that happened? How had both of the twins succumbed to the Seekers, nearly at the same time, falling from far too high up to crash to the Earth? What had _changed_? He'd have to get with Ratchet, figure out what sort of new attack had damaged the twins so terribly. One thing was for sure: Jet Judo was out.

Prowl smiled softly as he remembered Sideswipe's blitzed reactions to the pain meds. He'd probably be mortally embarrassed when he came to his senses, when all his circuits were firing again. He wondered who Sideswipe might have confused him with. Probably Smokescreen. Prowl thought he remembered seeing the two of them together a few months ago.

Jazz's thoughts stewed angrily, turning over and around themselves as the pressures of his secrets, his duplicity, his double life, all weighed in on him. He was clawing at the dark rage of his soul, pushing out at the cloying secrets that tried to pull him down, and no matter how he turned or where he went, he couldn't be free of the madness within his helm or his spark. Which way was up? Which way was out? What did he even want anymore?

Finally, after midnight, Prowl had stood and pulled Jazz up with him, a tired smile on his lips. They kissed chastely, then headed off the beach before transforming for the long drive back to the _Ark_. Without speaking, they headed back to Prowl's quarters together and climbed into the berth. Prowl's arms wound around Jazz's midsection, and he buried his face in the crook of Jazz's neck as he slowly fell into recharge. Jazz followed suit not long after, his hands laced through Prowl's, their fingers intertwined.

Sometime around four in the morning, Jazz onlined with a start, the fevered claws of a nightmare clinging on fiercely to his processor. He gasped, clutching at the berth as he rocketed upwards. His hands met empty space, and Jazz whirled around, searching for Prowl.

Prowl sat in one of his chairs on the far side of his quarters, a cube of energon on the table before him. He had half-risen out of his chair. "Jazz? Are you alright?"

Panting, Jazz nodded slowly. "Yeah," he gasped. "It was just a nightmare." He shook his helm, then frowned. "What are you doing online?"

Prowl rose, walking to his shelves. He pulled out another cube of energon. "I couldn't recharge," he said softly. He set the cube on his table before sitting again. "I've warmed up some energon. Care to share a cube with me?" His blue-blazing optics were the only illumination.

Inhaling, Jazz nodded. He clambered out of the berth and headed over to Prowl. He certainly wasn't going to be recharging after that nightmare. His circuits were running hot, his engine ticking quickly, and the shaky images of death – of all of his friends, Prowl, Prime, then shifting to Soundwave and Thundercracker, all dying, over and over again – stayed in his processor.

Jazz lowered into the chair opposite Prowl with a tired sigh, then reached for the cube Prowl had set out. The warmth seeped into his fingers. He clutched it, rolling the cube against his palms. "Why can't you recharge?" he asked quietly, glancing at Prowl. Prowl was staring at him with dim and distant optics.

Prowl shook his helm. "Just thinking about the day," he said. Blue glow, scattered from Jazz's visor and Prowl's optics, barely reached the deck. Prowl's words seemed deeper, somehow, in the darkness. "I can't get past what those Decepticons did." He frowned, exhaling.

Jazz frowned as well, his turbulent emotions cresting again. Frustration reared its helm, riding high. "The twins are going to be alright," he grunted. He looked away.

"Thankfully, yes," Prowl mused. He shook his helm again. "How can a people go so wrong?" he asked with a whisper.

"How do you mean?" Jazz asked. The darkness returned, pulling at his soul. Pressures forced in all around, choking his spark.

"How do they value life so _little_?" Prowl turned to Jazz, a pensive look on his face. "How does a race of mechs get so twisted? They're willing to kill anyone, murder entire worlds."

Swallowing past the rigid lump in his throat, Jazz shifted uncomfortably. "It's just their way, Prowl," he said. "It's the Decepticons." He shrugged.

Prowl snorted. "Sounds like you are almost accepting that."

"Well, we can't change it, can we?" Prowl turned an incredulous look to Jazz. "It's their culture. It's their way." Jazz fumbled, one hand gesturing as he spoke. "Their values are different. Strength and power…" Jazz trailed off as Prowl's optics flashed.

"Jazz, it's not just a different culture." Prowl shook his helm, aghast. "It's wrong."

Jazz frowned. "That's pretty strong, Prowl. How are you judging them? With what?"

Prowl leaned forward, his optics bright with incredulity, and stared at Jazz. "I'm judging them based on the twins, half dead in the medbay. On the humans they tried to kill yesterday at the oil fields. On you, and what they did to you. Attacking you, violating you, at the deepest level of your identity."

Jazz looked away quickly, his jaw clenching with fierce recoil. Anger coursed through his being, shapeless and formless. "This is a war, Prowl. We're _supposed_ to try and kill each other." He turned back to meet Prowl's gaze. "You go out and try to kill them every day."

Prowl flinched. Jazz had never found out he nearly offlined Soundwave for good. He had hoped that that was the end of the Decepticon, but sightings of him had dashed those hopes. "Are you trying to say it's all relative? That each of us is fighting for our own culture? We're just two goliaths ramming into each others beliefs on the universe and energon rights?"

Shrugging again, Jazz nodded. "Something like that."

"That's a load of slag," Prowl snapped. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he cupped his cube, staring at Jazz with burning optics. "Don't you believe that there are things happening in the universe, right now, that should be stopped? Because they're just plain wrong?"

Jazz swallowed, frozen in Prowl's gaze. His own actions immediately sprang to mind, but he pushed back at that dark thought. "Of course I do," he grunted. "The universe is far from perfect. Things suck," he grumbled.

"And how do you judge that?" Prowl pressed. "How do you judge that something should be stopped?"

"'Cause it's wrong." Jazz didn't like the turn the conversation had headed.

"But how do you _know_, Jazz?" Prowl pressed harder. His optics flared again. "How do you _know_ something is wrong? Because it's what the Autobots say?"

Jazz shook his helm, glaring. He looked away. There had been many times he hadn't agreed with the Autobots.

"Then _what_? What external judgment, what value system are you using, if it's not your culture? If it's not _their_ culture?" Prowl wouldn't let up.

"I don't know!" Jazz snapped back, flashing an angry glare across to Prowl. "Some things are just wrong!"

Prowl leaned back, inhaling slowly. He stared at Jazz for a long moment. "That's my point," he said. "Some things are just wrong. Your attack. The Decepticons."

"I thought you were the one who said that good things could come from bad?" Jazz set down his cube with a clang. He had no more appetite for energon, and with the emotions raging throughout his body, he didn't know if he could keep anything in his system either.

"If we can move toward that. If there can be change, yes." Prowl shook his helm again, then swallowed. "I just don't think that there is any redemption for the Decepticons."

Jazz stared back at Prowl, his optics burning. His lines were pounding, frustrated rage building within him. How easily he could slip, how quickly he could fall here. He knew too much, felt too much, and it would be so easy to slip up and reveal everything. He knew too much about Soundwave, about Thundercracker: about their secrets, their individuality. Their feelings. It was easier to hate when the Decepticons were nothing more than a one dimensional smear of evil, marring the universe with their power-hungry ways. Now, he knew better. He knew Soundwave's touch, the taste of his kiss, and the reverence of his touch. Knew his hopes and dreams. His passions for their home and the Cybertronian future. How could such grand ideals come from an irredeemable monster?

"That's pretty harsh, Prowl," Jazz said, his words grating. "Your world is very black and white."

"There are absolutes, Jazz," Prowl replied. "There are rights and there are wrongs, and living as if there aren't is a fantasy."

* * *

Soundwave's entire world was colored in anguish.

The rages, the rushes of agony and self-loathing crested in waves, and the need to be destructive, to tear down and to destroy, was overwhelming. His entire world had shattered in the scratchy, raw vidfeed Laserbeak had transmitted back, leaving him lost in an empty void. The mech he loved, the mech he had given everything of himself to, the mech who had redefined his world, was slowly, insidiously tearing his spark out, each kiss and touch on Prowl a betrayal.

He thought about agony, the emotion he'd spent so much time with over the course of his life. It flowed through him, filling his spark, wrapping around his soul. His breaths shuddered, faltering with the force of the emotion, so much more potent than any time before. Still, he forced himself to recognize the feeling, the nature of it, the shape. He waited for the agony to unloose within him the depths of his spark, the darkest parts of himself. His processor turned on his spark, then turned again, swallowing each other in bitterness and pain.

Soundwave's chest felt concave, his vents collapsed, caught mid-scream. He shuddered, unable to keep a full inhale within him, and his internals screamed in protest. He was gasping, trying to breathe, but the pain choked his vents, and all he could do was rasp and choke for more air, trying to claw his way through the agony.

Loneliness poured in, aching, crushing, all-consuming loneliness. He was alone. He was _left_ alone. Jazz was with another mech, sharing himself with another mech. How long had this been occurring?

Chirping faintly, Laserbeak fluttered his wings and cawed, safely perched out of sight at the top of Soundwave's shelves. He peered down at his host, his optics shining. An almost-strain of concern laced through his gentle caw.

Soundwave whirled, baring his denta at his cassette. He gasped in a ragged inhale, shaking, but couldn't quell the shifting powers of anguish. He tried again, struggling to breathe through the pain.

"Starscream to Soundwave!" His comm crackled to life, and the Air Commander's terrible voice poured out. "Where are you?"

Duties and shifts seemed inconsequential when faced with the totality of Soundwave's world collapsing. He was supposed to be on the Command Deck; Megatron had called a battle meeting, but Soundwave hadn't been able to compose himself yet. And what did it matter? Megatron, or even the Decepticons, wasn't the crux of his life any longer. Megatron had led them astray, so far astray, from their original goal, their point and purpose in life. They had wanted to start anew, to build a new life, free and unshackled from the ashes of their slaved pasts. They had fought for something they had each believed in, and had been willing to die for – freedom, the free control of their own lives, individually – but somewhere along the way, that had morphed into an indescribable putrification of their original intent. Soundwave hadn't wanted to dally on Earth. Soundwave hadn't wanted to chase Prime across the galaxy. Soundwave hadn't chosen any of this, _nothing_, but the forces of his life were no longer in his control. He'd traded one slave master for another, it had seemed, and he hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

He barely remembered being free anymore. Perhaps that was how he had fallen in love with Jazz, his spark unhelpfully panged. Loving Jazz was his _free_ choice, his free spark calling out for that one other spark that matched his. It was his love, his passion, his life, actualized.

But it was not to be. Jazz… How could Jazz do this? Was everything Jazz did, everything Jazz said, a lie? Their lovemaking, their passion, their promises… all meaningless? Was everything, ultimately, meaningless? Soundwave wanted to be free, wanted that freedom he barely remembered back so fiercely he could _taste_ it. But what good was freedom if he couldn't give himself to the one mech who meant everything to him? What good was freedom, locked in isolation?

"Soundwave!" Starscream screeched again. "Get up here, now!"

He barely remembered being free, but kissing Jazz had brought back all those feelings of promise, of potential, of being capable and able to do anything. His world was his to command, his to shape, to form, to seize at his will.

The loss of Jazz, then, fell like a chain around his spark, collapsing everything down to blackness, to darkness, to isolation and desolation. Starscream's cries, Megatron's orders, the futility of their actions on Earth… It all caved in around Soundwave, reminding him that there was no such thing as freedom. Not for him. Never for him.

"Soundwave acknowledges," he choked out. His voice was cracking, rumbling in the depths of his baritone cadence. His emotions were pulling his voice deeper, breaking on the depths of his pain.

Pulling himself together as best he could, forcing all of his emotions, every bit of feeling, within, he then crushed his spark ruthlessly, trying to subsume all of himself back into his unquenchable rage. He drew his wrath around him like a shield.

Laserbeak cawed again, this time stronger, and he flew down to rest on Soundwave's shoulder. Soundwave shuddered at the touch, but left his cassette there. Resting on his berth and staring at him with dark crimson optics, Ravage exhaled forcefully, almost whining. He stood, then jumped to the deck and padded to Soundwave's side as Soundwave headed for his door. Soundwave took one last inhale, shaking and wet, before he palmed open his small quarters' door and stepped out to the _Nemesis_ corridor.

Ravage and Laserbeak stayed with him, Ravage sprinting at his side while Laserbeak glared out at the passing Decepticons from his perch on Soundwave's shoulder. Their presence, unasked for, uninvited, gave him a tiny modicum of comfort, and he swallowed against the feelings that stirred within him.

Waiting outside the Command Deck was Thundercracker, his arms folded, a concerned frown fixed on his face. He was kicking at the decking, one wing scrapping against the bulkhead behind him. Soundwave was never late for anything. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have cared a whit, but now that Thundercracker _knew_ things about Soundwave, and now that they were friends, he could read the volumes that such a tiny action spoke. Something had happened, after their argument in the grove, and Soundwave had collapsed in on himself. No one but Thundercracker could see that their resident misanthropic spymaster was falling to pieces. As Soundwave approached, Thundercracker turned his full stare toward his friend.

Soundwave nearly weakened under the unexpected concern pushing from Thundercracker's guarded optics. Thundercracker kept up his façade of disagreeableness, kicking at the decking once more, but his gaze pierced into Soundwave's visor. "You alright?" Thundercracker grunted as Soundwave passed. His optics trailed over Soundwave's retinue, the feral cassettes flanking him on both sides. Rumble and Frenzy had been thrown out of Soundwave's quarters in the middle of the night, and they alternated between bitching over that fact and ruthlessly defending Soundwave against any gossip from the rest of the _Nemesis_ crew.

Clenching his jaw and grinding his denta together, Soundwave shook his helm, barely moving. "Negative," he breathed, almost too soft to hear. He didn't stop, however, and continued moving into the Command Deck. Thundercracker frowned heavily and followed him in a moment later, just as Megatron's booming voice welcomed Soundwave.

* * *

It was midmorning by the time Ratchet finally returned to his office. Wheeljack had started in on the repairs to Sunstreaker's leg early and had run into a coding problem, then called Ratchet for help. Ratchet, who was solidly in recharge, onlined cursing and blazed down to the medbay just in time to mediate between an angry, pained Sunstreaker hollering at Wheeljack, and a doped up Sideswipe still woozy on his feet. _Primus, Sideswipe is sensitive to those things_, he thought, cutting Sideswipe's dose off entirely, The red twin lounged on his berth, humming to himself after Ratchet waved off his heckling of his brother.

Sunstreaker's leg was reattached without any more fuss, and Wheeljack began helping him restart the servos and gears to repower his lower leg functions. After much griping, the Sunstreaker standard, Sunstreaker was up and walking with only a small, stiff limp. He'd have to break the new leg in and loosen the joints up, but a few hours on it would do the trick nicely. Sideswipe was finally sobering up as well, and Ratchet was able to get a good read on his processor.

Despite the traumas of the past day, the twins' auto repairs, redundant systems, and a night of medical recharge had brought them out of death's doorstep. Ratchet kicked them both out of the medbay and sent them back to their quarters, where they could rest in peace and quiet and laze around in their berths as long as they wanted. Sunstreaker grumbled, but Sideswipe led them both away, holding onto his brother for support.

Finally, Ratchet was alone, and he headed to his office sit down and collect himself. He instantly saw the flashing notice once more and cursed, then tried to open a comm line to Prowl.

Unfortunately, Prowl wasn't onboard the _Ark_ any longer. Empty space and a negative beep met Ratchet's efforts. He shoved at his desktop surface. Frowning, Ratchet scanned for Jazz.

_Autobot Jazz is not aboard the _Ark.

Ratchet's vents sped up slightly, his engine ticking higher. _It's nothing,_ Ratchet said to himself. _Jazz is probably out with Prowl._ He refused to think of any other possibility. Still, he keyed an alert to Teletraan, instructing the computer to comm him directly when Prowl returned to the _Ark_.

* * *

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe limped back to their quarters together, leaning heavily on each other. Sunstreaker grunted with each step, trying to force his new leg to rights and to push through the stiffness. Sideswipe was exhausted, nearly dragging. Medical recharge was not restful recharge, and the high he'd felt throughout the night and morning had finally ended, leaving him with a processor-draining crash. All he wanted to do was curl up in his berth and recharge for a week.

Sunstreaker felt the same, and he was looking forward to starting in on that recharge as soon as they returned.

Unfortunately, Bluestreak waited outside their quarters, fidgeting as he inspected the paint on his fingertips. Sunstreaker stiffened, going rigid.

"Hey, Sunny," Bluestreak called out, utterly ignoring the golden twin's injuries. "I was wondering when Ratchet would finally let you out of his dungeon. Do you know you're about three hours later than normal?" Bluestreak smirked at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker's pain surged, this time from his spark. How could Bluestreak be so sparkless, so uncaring, so thoughtless? Didn't he care?

No, of course he didn't. What was Sunstreaker thinking? That had been their problem the entire time. Bluestreak _didn't_ care, and Sunstreaker did, too much. That was ending. Now.

Sunstreaker shouldered past Bluestreak. He punched in their locking code, still ignoring the gunner.

Bluestreak tilted his helm, trying to catch Sunstreaker's optics. "Sunny?"

"What?" Sunstreaker finally snapped. "What do you want, Bluestreak?" He frowned.

Bluestreak frowned as well, stepping back a half step. Normally after Sunstreaker's brushes with death, they'd interface the pain away, and Bluestreak always met him at his quarters after Ratchet sprung him from the confines of the medbay. "What's wrong, Sunny?"

"What's _wrong_?" Sunstreaker half-carried his exhausted brother into their quarters, limping and grimacing through the effort. They moved to the couch, where Sideswipe sank down gratefully, sighing. Sideswipe caught his brother's optics and tried to smile, tried to support him.

Sunstreaker swallowed before turning back to face Bluestreak. The gunner had followed Sunstreaker into their quarters. "What's wrong is that I have a thoughtless, uncaring partner," he growled, "who can't even make time to see me in the medbay."

Bluestreak sighed in, throwing his hands up in the air. "_Again_? Primus, Sunstreaker, how many times do we have to do this?" He shook his helm. "We're _not_ partners!" he growled, staring at Sunstreaker with blazing optics. "We're lovers. We 'face. That's it."

"Even lovers actually care about each other, Blue," Sunstreaker grumbled. "They are concerned about each other." His optics flashed, and he leaned back against the couch to take the weight off his leg. Sideswipe's hand rose, gently pressing against his back in a silent show of support.

"You're fine!" Bluestreak cried out. "What's all the fuss about? You're _fine_!"

"We died!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "We died, and my leg was torn off! We spent _all night_ in the medbay, and no one came to see us!"

"'Cept Prowl," Sideswipe muttered, staring into nothing. He shifted, vastly uncomfortable with the whole argument. He hated seeing his brother hurting, but everything Bluestreak did to Sunstreaker hurt.

Bluestreak's optics had narrowed dangerously. "What do you want me to do? Come hold your hand? Sit by your berthside?" He scoffed, snorting in derision. "We're not in love, Sunstreaker," he bit out.

Sunstreaker's frown turned to a dark glare, ugly and pained. "You're not in love, Bluestreak," he growled. "You _can't_ love, I think." Sunstreaker shook his helm. When he spoke again, his voice was gravely, full of unshed pain. "I'd have given anything to have gotten _one, tiny_ piece of affection from you. _Anything_. Anything at all that showed you cared." He swallowed, but refused to look away. "I'm not doing this anymore. I want more. More than you want to give." Sunstreaker finally looked away, glaring at the bulkhead on the far side of their quarters. "Get out."

Bluestreak stared at Sunstreaker, dumbfounded. "You're ending this?" he whispered. They had the best 'facing on the entire _Ark_, and everyone knew it. "You're seriously ending this over that?"

Wordlessly, Sunstreaker nodded.

"Well, fine!" Bluestreak exploded, shouting at Sunstreaker. "You can't accept me for who I am, then _fine_!" He stomped to the door. "We entered into this arrangement knowing what was what, Sunstreaker," he spat. "If you hadn't changed things, everything would be fine." He glared at Sunstreaker, but Sunstreaker refused to meet his gaze. Bluestreak slapped at the palmpad, and when the doors slid open, he stalked out without looking back.

Sunstreaker slumped forward, exhaling from his spark. He sagged, his struts losing every micron of strength.

Sideswipe's hand stroked silently along his brother's back as he let his helm flop backward. Sunstreaker finally slid off the arm of the couch, squeezing himself in next to his brother, and Sideswipe wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Sunstreaker's optics were offline and he refused to admit that he wanted the comfort.

They stayed curled up on the couch, refusing to move. Sideswipe's hand gently stroked over his brother's plating, trying to offer what comfort he could.

* * *

Jazz drove in circles outside the _Ark_, alternating dizzying donuts with long, wide swirls that took him further and further from Autobot headquarters. He and Prowl had continued picking at each other throughout the morning until they had worked themselves into a frenzied argument. Finally, Prowl had bailed, heading to his office early as Jazz faked busy happenings out of the _Ark_ just to escape. He had to get away.

The pressure hadn't let up, not one bit. Pressure crept in everywhere, pressing on him in the command staff meeting, and as the twins were injured, and then again during his argument with Soundwave and Thundercracker.

Soundwave's hurting optics, hidden behind his shining visor, still haunted him, lingering in the darkness of his processor. Thundercracker's words echoed within his helm as well. What were they all doing out here? Was it even possible to grind the war to a halt? To try to change _anything_ at all? _How_? How, after years and years of fighting, could anything change?

Prowl's anger bounced off of Thundercracker's sneer, crashing in his mind. How could mechs with so much hatred ever come to any sort of agreement?

Jazz's throat constricted as he spun into another wild donut, the dirt spraying behind his tires in a wide arc. He spun into his own tail, and the sand rained down on his windscreen, a thousand tiny cuts slicing his plating.

Prowl's words replayed over and over again. _There are absolutes in the world, Jazz. _What was absolute anymore? What was right and what was wrong? How could Jazz even claim to know?

Jazz's comm crackled to life, and his processor instantly recognized the signal as coming from one of the multitude of proxies he and Soundwave bounced their comms off of. His vents froze, anticipation, exhaustion, and dreaded, damned hope all flooded his spark at once. What he would do, if only he could.

"Soundwave to Jazz."

He revved his engine as he opened a channel back. He lived for these moments now, when he could let himself feel, let himself be, be without prerequisites or demands or expectations. "Jazz here," he said quietly, stopping his wild circling.

"We must meet," Soundwave said without preamble. "Immediate meeting required. Important conversation required."

Jazz frowned. "Is everything alright? Megatron planning something new?"

"Negative." Soundwave volunteered no further information.

"Alright…" Jazz's engine ticked higher, his processor straining. "When do you want to meet?"

"Presently en route," Soundwave replied.

"What?" Jazz yelped, then threw his engine into high gear, swerving to head to their grove. "Now?"

"Affirmative."

"Alright, alright." Jazz slammed down on his accelerator, speeding. "You'll beat me there. But I'm on my way."

"Acknowledged." Soundwave hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but finally cut the line.

Frowning deeply and pushing his engine as hard as he could, Jazz raced to their grove. Something was wrong, very wrong. Overhead, he distantly heard the unmistakable sound of Seeker turbines. Thundercracker was going to beat him there. He gunned harder, pushing faster.

Finally he arrived, and he stumbled to his feet as he clambered through the boulders and over the craggy terrain. Hushed voices fell from within the copse of redwoods, and he could just make out the smooth tones of Thundercracker, then the monotone of Soundwave, though the voice of his lover sounded different somehow.

Pushing through the last of the brush, he raced into the grove, his visor flaring and vents panting. "Soundwave, what is it?" Jazz asked. "Are you alright?" Concern underlay his voice as he moved toward his lover.

Soundwave's visor flared, white-bright and anguished. It stilled Jazz, halting him in his tracks, and Thundercracker took that moment to slip out of the grove with one last glance back at Soundwave for reassurance.

"Soundwave?" Jazz's optics darted over his lover, confused.

Slowly, Soundwave stepped forward. He clenched hands into trembling fists at his side, trying to still their uncontrollable shaking. Seeing Jazz before him opened every burn he'd tried to control, every scream he'd tried to stifle. He saw Prowl's lips, gently caressing Jazz's, flash through his mind for the millionth, billionth time. "State your reasons…" he ground out. His voice was too deep, too gravely, and he could barely force his words past his clenched throat.

"What?" Jazz's frown deepened, and he tried to reach for Soundwave's arm.

Soundwave pulled back. "State your reasons," he repeated. "For interfacing with others." His visor burned.

In a fraction of an astrosecond, Jazz's entire world shifted, altered, tilted wildly off kilter and reframed itself in alien, unfamiliar patterns and colors. He froze, then jerked back, his own visor flaring. He gasped, inhaling in a ragged breath. His processor blazed, then stuttered, repeating Soundwave's words over and over in his helm as his spark froze to ice and dropped to the bottom of his tanks.

"Have you been _following_ me?" Jazz hissed, his optics narrowing. His visor darkened as disbelieving rage tore through him.

At the edge of the grove, Thundercracker froze, taking in the bits of conversation he could hear. He whirled around, staring at Jazz and Soundwave.

"State your reasons-" Soundwave tried to repeat. His hands were shaking, trembling, and he tried to clench his fists harder to hide his feelings.

"You've been _following_ me!" Jazz shouted. "How _dare_ you follow me!" The pressures within, the straining darkness, pulled on his spark, pulled at his being, rending him into a thousand different pieces.

"That's not the point, Jazz"! Thundercracker suddenly shouted, butting into the argument. "You're not denying it!"

"State your reasons," Soundwave repeated, his voice falling to a grating whisper, rumbling and too-deep. It hurt, to hear.

Finally, fury was all that was left within Jazz. He'd been peaking for hours, the frustration building for days, and the pressures of his double life, the secrets he'd carried, the lies he'd played, all ravaged his soul. A thousand demands, a thousand expectations, a thousand desires all pulled him apart, and there was nothing left, in the end, other than his fury. He exploded, burning bright, and raging.

"How dare you!" Jazz bellowed, his optics sliding from Thundercracker to Soundwave. "What do you think it is we're _doing_ here?" Silence met his question, and he pushed on before they could answer. "You're living in a fantasy land!" Jazz spat. "You think we can ever _be_ together?" He snorted, rearing back. "You never left your own fantasy!" He shook his helm, glaring at the two Decepticons. "What did you expect?"

Thundercracker's optics darkened, and he stepped forward, ready to tear Jazz apart. Soundwave stopped him, reaching out and halting his movement. "This…" Soundwave couldn't force the words out. He switched tactics, staring at Jazz through his burning visor. "Attempted actions: for a better future," he croaked. "Rebuilding Cybertron. Shared visions of the way everything should be."

Thundercracker finally shook his hold off with a growl, still glaring at Jazz.

Jazz snorted again. He paced away, turning to glare at Soundwave. "Cybertron is _dead_! It's cold and offline, and nothing is going to change that!"

"Negative."

"You're lying to yourself!"

"Starscream is able to repower the planet's core with sufficient energy resources," Soundwave began, trying to speak over Jazz's angry shouts.

"Everything there is gone!"

"Change is possible-"

"Stop lying to yourself!" Jazz hollered, pointing a wild finger back at Soundwave. He shook his helm and turned away, kicking at the dirt. He felt entirely out of control, flying apart, flying to pieces. Fury powered him, propelled him, and carried him further away from everything he cared for. "Those are just _ridiculous dreams_, Soundwave."

Silence filled the grove. "Jazz is my dream," Soundwave finally whispered, his baritone filling the words with need.

"Stop." Jazz shook his helm again, refusing to look at Soundwave. He swallowed, the tightness in his throat constructing his vocalizer. "Just stop."

"Negative." Soundwave tried to step forward, move toward Jazz, but Jazz pulled back, keeping a distance in between them. Thundercracker, amassing a cloud of rage directed solely toward Jazz, stood behind Soundwave, his arms folded across his chest as his wings ticked furiously.

"We were fragging stupid to do this," Jazz finally choked out. "You need to forget everything here. Forget this. We have to stop." He looked up, staring at the horizon through the trees.

Soundwave's optics were burning, staring hard at Jazz.

"I'm not coming back, Soundwave." It was the hardest thing Jazz had ever had to say.

"Negative…" Soundwave's whispered. "Negative!" He moved, crashing footfalls racing to Jazz's side. "Instructions required. Instructions required for Jazz's happiness. State what must be done!" His voice rose, static emerging to cloud the edges. "A course of action exists for reparations. Instructions required." His vents heaved. "_Please_."

It was Jazz's turn to clench his hands into fists, trying to control the unending rage savaging his spark. He clenched his jaw, his cables grinding together, but still refused to turn to look at Soundwave. "No," he growled. "There's nothing. This has to _end_. It's just a _delusion_. You can't expect us to actually _be_ together!"

Soundwave reached out, finally taking hold of Jazz. He gripped Jazz's shoulders and spun him around, forcing Jazz to face him. "Affirmative!" he shouted. "Soundwave: devoted to Jazz." His voice dropped to a whisper as his wild optics stared down, burning into Jazz with all of his anguish and agony. His fingers dug into Jazz's plating, denting him, and his body trembled all the way down to his microns. "Jazz's requirements: Prowl? Jazz-" His vocalizer faded to static. "Jazz: loves Prowl? State the reasons for his superiority!"

Jazz grimaced, trying to escape. It was too much to feel Soundwave's hands on his plating again. He wouldn't meet Soundwave's gaze. "I'm not doing this," he mumbled, trying to break free. "Let me go!"

"State the reasons for his superiority!" Soundwave repeated, static choking his words.

"Let me go!" Jazz shifted, trying to break free. Soundwave's grip tightened, bearing down on Jazz's plating. Jazz hissed, twisting again.

"Jazz: causing agony," Soundwave gasped. His hands shook, then finally broke from Jazz's plating. He froze, staring, and his optics melted from their sockets as his lips moved soundlessly, pleading.

Finally, Jazz met Soundwave's gaze. "You should never have loved me," Jazz whispered, shaking his helm. He dropped his optics and moved away.

Thundercracker exploded. "It's always the same with you Autobots!" He bellowed, standing next to Soundwave. "Can never trust a word you say! Nothing but lies!"

Jazz never turned back.

"Run away!" Thundercracker shouted. "It's all you're good at!"

Slowly, Soundwave's anguish bloomed, overflowing and bursting out of his spark, encompassing everything within his soul. Anguish overcame him entirely, blitzing his vision, blinding his optics, and shorting his audials. A scream, as dark as his spark and as painful as his long past, erupted from his systems, and a pulsing blast of sonic noise boomed from deep within.

The sonic boom burst, reverberating out of the grove and down the hillside, rolling through the valley below until everything for miles could hear and feel the depth of his agony.

His entire world, the only brightness in his life, had just walked away.

* * *

The sensors on the _Ark_ screamed, flaring wildly.

"What the slag is that?" Ironhide frowned.

Red Alert shook his helm, furiously working over the board. "Unknown."

"Hmm." Ironhide frowned, staring at the readouts as the sensors normalized. "Well, that was damn odd," he mused. "Log it. We'll see if anything comes from that. Could just be a sensor ghost."

Frowning, Red Alert nodded, coding the readings into the log. He glanced at the board once more, then went back to the current feeds. "Ironhide, Prime and Prowl are returning to the _Ark_."

"Wonder what kind of slag they caught from the humans. I'll meet them down there."

* * *

Ratchet's comm beeped to life, chirping incessantly as Teletraan picked up on Prowl's return. _Autobot Prowl has returned to the _Ark.

Pursing his lips as he frowned, Ratchet opened a line to Prowl. "Prowl, this is Ratchet. I need to speak with you immediately."

"Is everything alright?" Prowl sounded exhausted, his voice drained. "Is it about the twins?"

"No, I released the twins hours ago," Ratchet grumbled. "This is private. I need to see you. Now."

"Understood. I'm on my way." Prowl cut the line, and Ratchet pulled up the scans of the twins' injuries again, looking over the grim evidence and hoping he was wrong.

He wasn't.

It only took a few minutes for Prowl to arrive, and he walked into the medbay with his doorwings drooping, exhaustion clinging to his frame. "What's wrong with you?" Ratchet snapped.

"Didn't recharge much last night," Prowl dismissed. He left out his early morning argument with Jazz. "And, the humans want our energon for the attack on the oilfield." He shook his helm. "I have exactly no time to deal with anything else. What do you need to show me, Ratchet?"

Inhaling, Ratchet tossed the data pad with the twins' injury report onto the medberth between him and Prowl. "This."

Prowl scanned the pad quickly. He frowned as he read of the Seekers' new attack strategy and the directed electrical surges that had fried the twins' circuitry. "This is a disturbing development," he murmured. "How were they able to capitalize on this?"

"Jazz," Ratchet said slowly. Prowl's helm whipped around, his optics blazing. "You were right, Prowl," Ratchet sighed. "I told Jazz this _exact_ weakness of the twins a month ago, after the last battle at the chemical depot."

"What do you mean you told him?"

"His hand was burned, and as I was repairing him, he asked about the twins' Jet Judo. It slipped out, it was just something I said. I was talking to a fellow officer." Ratchet let loose an exasperated sigh, rubbing his hand over his helm. "I didn't think Jazz would betray us." He glared at Prowl. "Seems you're right, Prowl. Jazz is passing information on to the Decepticons somehow."

Ice surged through Prowl's lines. "No," he said. "Jazz isn't a traitor. He's still being used somehow."

Ratchet frowned. He had his doubts, but he couldn't name them just yet. It was too terrifying, the possibility. "Soundwave's one twisted fragger," he spat. "Damned effective, too."

Prowl glared at Ratchet. His argument with Jazz flashed across his processor. _"There are absolutes, Jazz…"_ He swallowed, pushing past his swelling anger. "What's the status on Wheeljack's virus?"

"It's complete. It's ready to be deployed." Ratchet's hesitation at using the virus had melted, vanished in the proof of Jazz's actions, the usury the Decepticons had seemingly twisted him into. The twins' weakly-pulsing sparks fluttered in sensor echoes under his hands, and faced with that, Ratchet had no compunctions in choosing the twins over Soundwave.

Prowl nodded. "We'll be needing it immediately." He had hoped, so powerfully hoped, that he was wrong. That Jazz just needed time, that he was healing, that he was struggling with his memories. Somehow, though, Soundwave was still pulling information from Jazz's processor. Was it a listening device? A Trojan horse? A shadow processor operating without Jazz's knowledge? "Where is Jazz now?" he asked. "We need to get him isolated, scan his processor for the intrusion."

"I scanned him once already. There was nothing there."

"Scan him again," Prowl snapped. "You missed something."

Ratchet nodded brusquely. "Jazz isn't on board. I thought he was with you. His office says he off-_Ark_ to deal with the battle fallout."

Dread bloomed within Prowl. "No, he's not with me," he whispered. "We had a fight this morning." His processor raced, thinking back to all of Jazz's drives, every one of his off-_Ark_ excursions for 'processor-clearing drives', and his scattered, ill-explained intelligence brought back to the Autobots. Had it all been a trap? Was everything a master plan, Jazz being played as a puppet, feeding the Autobots corrupted intelligence? "Tell Perceptor and Wheeljack to isolate all the components we took from Shockwave's lab!" Prowl barked. "Get Wheeljack to shield the medbay from all communications signals. I'm going to get Jazz," he growled. Prowl's doorwings flared wide as he turned to leave.

"Prowl," Ratchet called out. "What if Jazz doesn't cooperate?"

Prowl glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the doorjamb. "He's an Autobot, Ratchet. When he hears what's being done to him, he'll fight back."

* * *

Jazz screamed across the desert, his spark bursting and shattering into nothingness and oblivion. Fury filled his soul. He was empty, gutted, devoid of anything except the pressures of the world, bearing down upon him at every angle. He was trapped, entirely trapped.

A flashing alert popped up on his HUD radar. Another mech was driving out toward him.

Prowl.

Jazz's fury exploded again, this time wrapping around in a purity of rage so absolute, so entirely full of wrath. This was another mech watching him, wanting him, keeping tabs on him.

Jazz was done, finished, entirely through with everything. There was nothing left of him, not after being pulled apart by everyone, and certainly not after crushing the spark of the mech he thought he loved. He had no more patience to pretend any longer, not with Prowl.

They drove toward each other, each mech driving in a straight line at top speed. Jazz gunned it hard, bearing down on Prowl, zeroing in on his frame. He grunted, pushing harder, and as they neared one another, it was Prowl who swerved to the side, barely avoiding a head-on collision.

Prowl transformed after skidding to a stop, rising to stare at Jazz with sheltered, burning optics. Jazz transformed as well, his breaths heaving as he stood apart, his back to Prowl.

"Jazz," Prowl whispered.

Jazz slowly turned around. "Prowl, we have to talk," he spat.

Prowl inhaled. "I know, Jazz. I know." "_It's the Decepticons, it's not Jazz,"_ Prowl told himself. "But first, we need to go see Ratchet."

Jazz froze. "What?"

"We have to go see Ratchet. There's something wrong with your processor, Jazz. It's… Please, let us help you." Prowl's optics burned into Jazz's.

Swallowing, Jazz's optics narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Damage, from when you were attacked. We didn't know, we didn't see it at first. Please let us help you." Prowl held out his hand, reaching for Jazz. "Let's go back to the _Ark_, alright?"

Staring at Prowl's hand, Jazz felt his spark scream, his black soul warning him away. It blazed, shrieking at him to stop, to turn away, to run away. He pushed it aside, glaring at Prowl. "There's nothing wrong with me," he spat. If this would get them off his back, then he'd do it and be done with everything. He dropped into his alt mode. "I told you before: you just don't really know me." Jazz gunned away, heading for the _Ark_.

Silently, Prowl followed, pinging ahead to Ratchet to meet them at the blast doors.

Jazz's dread rose to a conflagration as he was met at the entrance and led to the medbay, Ratchet and Prowl flanking him on either side. Though it wasn't stated, and there were no cuffs, Jazz had the distinct impression that he was under confinement. The dread wrapped around his fury, and all he wanted to do was lash out, strike out, and wound.

Inside the medbay, Wheeljack activated the electronic shielding that would block all communications into or outside the medbay. He waited for Ratchet and Prowl, one hand jiggling the data pad he held nervously. As the three officers walked in, Wheeljack straightened, nodded to them both, and handed Prowl the pad. With one long look at Jazz, Wheeljack slid out of the medbay.

"What the frag is going on?" Jazz spat, his gaze darting from Prowl to Ratchet.

Ratchet folded his arms over his chest. Prowl's helm titled, sorrow and remorse falling from his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Jazz," he whispered. "I promised I'd keep you safe, and I've let you down."

"What are you talking about?" Jazz snapped. The pressure he'd thought he'd escaped from came flooding back in, terrible and oppressive.

Prowl shook his helm. He reached out, trying to touch Jazz's wrist, but Jazz pulled back. Prowl's lips flattened as he looked down. "I know this isn't you, Jazz," he said softly. "We're here to help you." Prowl gestured for Ratchet to join them.

Ratchet pulled out his own pad, onlining it for Jazz to see. "Look familiar?" he asked.

It was the battle damage to the twins, overlaid next to the detailed schematics of how to cripple the twins' circuitry through electrical surges. "You asked about this. I told you this exact battle strategy a month ago, and yesterday the twins were attacked, just like this."

Dark, terrible rage swallowed Jazz down, pulling him to the savagest depths. His vents stuttered, refused to inhale. He stayed silent.

Prowl stared hard at Jazz's profile, then spoke again. "Somehow, and we're not sure how, Jazz, Soundwave is still using you. He's still got something planted in your processor, and he's either been downloading information from you, or using you to gather intelligence, or directing you to meet him off the _Ark_ for rendezvous, or a combination of everything. He's taken control of your processor again." Prowl paused, the words physically painful for him to speak. "You are unknowingly being used against the Autobots, Jazz," Prowl whispered.

Everything in Jazz froze. Stillness, absolute and perfect, covered his being, and only his fury roared within. "Unknowingly being used?" he repeated, his whisper cold.

Prowl nodded. "Yes. This attack of theirs is incredible. I've never seen the like." His expression crumbled. "I'm so sorry, Jazz. I wanted to protect you from all of this."

Jazz turned to Ratchet. "You're sure that this is being directed by Soundwave? By the Decepticons?"

Ratchet frowned, studying Jazz closely, but nodded after a moment. "We believe that to be the case."

"You're actions aren't your choice, Jazz," Prowl said, insisting. "No one is blaming you for anything."

Slowly, Jazz nodded, and his optics drifted to the data pad in Prowl's hands. "What's that?" he asked, a detached air suddenly taking hold of him.

Prowl stared down at his pad, then licked his lips. "This," he said softly. "Is how we're going to set you free." He held Jazz's gaze. "It's a weapon. We're finally going to be rid of this threat, once and for all. If Soundwave can do this to you, then he can do this to anyone, and we're not going to take that risk."

"What are you saying?"

"Prowl, don't!" Ratchet hissed.

Prowl shook his helm. "The room is shielded. If Soundwave is listening in, he can't hear a thing." Prowl stared back at Jazz. "We're going to kill Soundwave, Jazz. We're going to save you."

Suddenly, the shattered remnants of Jazz's spark blazed, and the passion of his unspoken love finally sounded the true depths of his soul. Jazz knew, _knew_, that he had made a grave mistake, the worst of his life. Soundwave was the answer to his longing, the dark spark that illuminated his own. Soundwave, his answering darkness. His oblivion. The mech he loved. The mech he'd just tossed aside.

What had he done? And now, this. What was he going to do?

Jazz stared at Prowl, their optics warring against each other. Prowl, his accidental lover, was going to kill Soundwave, the mech he loved, and it was all to save Jazz.

Slowly, Jazz nodded. He swallowed, the pieces of a frantic plan raggedly falling into being. "I hear you," he whispered. Prowl exhaled, sharing a relieved look with Ratchet. "There's just one thing," Jazz growled. He met Prowl's confused optics. His visor flashed, just before he lunged.

Jazz lashed out, grasping Prowl's neck cables. He yanked, digging into Prowl's O2 lines and separating them from his processor. Shocked, Prowl stumbled, and his processor instantly blared a critical alert. Jazz growled again, then squeezed down on Prowl's airway, knocking his ventilations off balance and throwing his engine out of cycle. Prowl's engine blazed, screaming as Jazz threw Prowl back, sending him toppling to the floor.

Ratchet turned, trying to race to the terminal, but Jazz beat him there, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. Ratchet tried to fight back, reaching up to punch at Jazz's helm. Jazz blocked Ratchet's wild swing, then twisted his arm behind his back and slammed Ratchet face-first against the bulkhead. Ratchet grunted, his processor stuttering, and Jazz slammed him again, knocking him mostly unconscious. Ratchet slumped to the floor, his optics dim, unable to move.

Jazz crossed back to Prowl, reaching down to pluck the data pad with Wheeljack's virus from him. Thanks to the shielding around the medbay, neither Ratchet nor Prowl could call for help.

Jazz's optics burned. "My actions are my own," he growled. "No one is directing me to do _anything_." He onlined the data pad, and for the first time, saw the virus Prowl planned to use against Soundwave. His expression melted, blanching as he took in the carnage Prowl had designed. Jazz stared down at Prowl, gasping for vents as his processor slowly overheated and his engine choked on the shaky vents he barely managed.

"No," Prowl whispered, shaking his helm. "Jazz."

Wordlessly, Jazz stepped over Prowl's body. He moved to the door, slapping it open. He had so little time. He had to get back to Soundwave.

As Jazz darted down the hallway, Wheeljack, tucked out of sight and waiting for Ratchet to emerge from the medbay, frowned, watching Jazz escape. "Jazz?" he called.

Jazz never turned around.

Slowly, Wheeljack moved to the medbay. He stared after Jazz, then palmed the medbay doors open.

Prowl's shaky gasps and burning optics met Wheeljack as he writhed on the floor.

"Prowl!" Wheeljack ran to Prowl's side, then saw Ratchet crumbled against the wall. He opened a comm line to the Command Deck. "Red Alert, shut down the _Ark_!" he hollered. "Lock everything down! Intruder alert!"

Instantly, the alarms began to blare, and Red Alert's harangued voice responded. "Who's the intruder, Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack helped Prowl up, then reattached his O2 lines to the base of his helm. Gasping, Prowl leaned forward, rubbing at this throat. His engine was still knocking, still shuddering, but slowly he began to breathe normally again, regulating his engine.

Wheeljack ran to Ratchet's side, helping him slowly sit up.

"It's Jazz," Prowl croaked.

Jazz ran down the corridors of the _Ark_, racing for the blast doors. Racing behind him to guard the entrance were Cliffjumper and Bluestreak. "Jazz!" Cliffjumper called out. "Stop!" He cursed, then dropped into his transformation, gunning toward the closing doors.

Over the comm line, Red Alert shouted to the two mechs chasing Jazz. "Open fire!" he called. Bluestreak and Cliffjumper glanced at each other, hesitating. "Now!" Red Alert shouted again.

That hesitation was enough for Jazz. He pushed himself to the limit, redlining his engine, and zipped through the closing blast doors. His side mirror clipped the metal, shattering behind him as he blasted out of the _Ark_.

"He's out!" Bluestreak called over the comm.

On the Command Deck, Red Alert and Ironhide swore. Prime strode onto the deck, a heavy frown on his face. "What's the situation?"

"It's Jazz, Prime," Ironhide grunted. "Prowl was right. He's gone running."

Prime inhaled deeply. "The Aerialbots are still patrolling the oil fields." He frowned. "We'll have to search for him in teams. Assemble the squads. We can't let him get away."

* * *

Jazz tore across the desert, his engine screaming. Only that morning he had made the same drive, but that time, he had been lamenting the state of the world, of the universe, and certain of the futility of everything. His lamentations had turned to certainties in the face of Prowl's murderous wrath. He and Soundwave existed in a world apart, somehow. How could anything change the hatred of their lives, such intractable wounds of war?

There wasn't a world that existed for them, not here.

Jazz's engine screamed as he raced to the grove, and he opened his comm line directly to Soundwave's frequency. "Soundwave!" he shouted, his voice ragged. "Soundwave, where are you?"

He had to find Soundwave. The thought of his lover, the mech that he loved, dead and offline was tearing apart his spark. There wasn't a world where he and Soundwave could exist together, not as it currently existed, but they could leave. They could run. They could leave everything behind and begin anew. "Soundwave!"

Finally, crackling over his comm line, Soundwave's voice flooded his receiver. "Jazz?"

"Soundwave, thank Primus." He exhaled, swerving as he headed to their grove automatically. "We have to meet, right now."

"State your rationalization. Associations: terminated."

Swallowing, Jazz stumbled as he transformed and clambered up to the grove, sheltered on the rocky hillside. "Soundwave, I was wrong. I'm so sorry, and I was wrong. I was wrong to end us. But I have to see you. They're trying to kill you."

Silence. Jazz's vents heaved as he stumbled up the hill. "Soundwave," he repeated, pleading. "Please!"

"En route," Soundwave choked out, cutting the comm. Jazz exhaled, frantic pacing taking hold.

Minutes later, Jazz heard the boom of Thundercracker's turbines, and then the scream of his engines as the Seeker neared. He swallowed, staring at the sky.

Thundercracker hovered and slowly lowered himself to the ground. "Soundwave," he grunted. They had been flying together over the skies, not ready to head back to the _Nemesis_. Soundwave had crumpled to his alt mode and refused to speak to Thundercracker after Jazz had left. He held everything, all of his agony, deep within. "I'm going to hang out nearby," Thundercracker said.

Soundwave unfolded and transformed. He turned to Thundercracker. "Negative," he droned. "Return to the _Nemesis_."

"What? Leave you here? You're crazy!" Thundercracker scoffed.

Soundwave shook his helm. "Return to the _Nemesis_."

"I'm not leaving without you," Thundercracker grunted. Soundwave stared at him for a moment, then turned away. Thundercracker lifted off slowly, heading for a small canyon nearby to wait. Soundwave set up a communications block, shielding the airwaves before he headed to Jazz.

Jazz fretted, watching Soundwave approach. "Soundwave," he choked out. He held out the pad. "They're trying to kill you. Primus, they're trying to destroy your processor."

Soundwave stared at Jazz, then took the pad. "Who?" he asked, staring down at the figures.

Jazz swallowed. "Prowl." Soundwave glanced up sharply. "The Autobots. Primus, everyone. They found out about _us_. About this. But they think you're controlling me, like some puppet master."

Soundwave flinched, shying away as he turned back to the pad. His optics scanned over the details of the virus, taking in the complexity and the delivery system. It would take an incredibly long time to defend against their attack. But… why should he? Soundwave frowned at Jazz. "Your expectations of action?" he asked.

Jazz boggled. "You have to defend yourself!"

"State reasons for such action." If the war was ongoing, if everything was futile, if there was no escape from the torture of the war, grinding ever onward, if he was just another slave, shackled in bindings he had been too blind to see, then why should he fight against an escape, given in the hands of his enemy?

"What?" Jazz grunted. "Primus, Soundwave! I can't watch you die!"

"Associations: terminated," Soundwave ground out.

"That was wrong," Jazz whispered, shaking his helm. His voice trembled. "_I_ was wrong, Soundwave. I'm… I'm not right, right now. I've been terrible to everyone. Most of all you." His optics blazed as he stared up at Soundwave. "I _love_ you, Soundwave, and I couldn't admit that. I was just trying to be everything. I didn't know what to do, and I just tried to do it all." Jazz swallowed, ragged. "I failed, Soundwave. I failed so badly."

Soundwave stared. His lips silently moved over one another, trying to speak. "Jazz: believes yourself forced?" he whispered, his words too-deep.

Jazz shook his helm, pressing his hand against Soundwave's chest. "No, no, no," he whispered. "It's me that's been wrong."

Soundwave looked away, swallowing. He turned back, his expression naked and raw. "Jazz: honesty required," he pleaded. "State your requirements." His voice ground over his words. "Prowl: required? Prowl: your desire?" He paused, raising a hand to still Jazz's protestation. "Your desires: accepted," he grunted. "Associations: terminated. Simply state your desires."

"Soundwave…" Jazz's chest collapsed, his spark wrenching. "It's _you_. It's you, it's you. _You_ are everything I desire."

Soundwave's optics blazed, and he reached out, holding Jazz's shoulders. "Instructions required." he breathed. Instructions required for Jazz's happiness."

Jazz's hand rose, cupping Soundwave's cheek. "Just you, Soundwave. I just need you, exactly as you are." He swallowed, glancing at the pad. "Alive," he added.

Soundwave pulled Jazz close. He hesitated, shaking, but then pressed his lips to Jazz's. Jazz moaned, holding Soundwave tight, and tried to deepen the kiss. Soundwave, however, pulled back. "Course of action?"

Jazz exhaled, shaking. "We have to run, Soundwave. We have to run away. Now."

Soundwave nodded, once.

Jazz pressed forward after a long, silent moment, hesitantly asking, "What about the Decepticons, Soundwave?"

"Negative," Soundwave spat.

"I'll go back with you," Jazz pressed. "I can be your prisoner, or something. Anything."

"Decepticons: not an option."

"How much worse can they be than the Autobots? Prowl is trying to _murder_ you!"

"Negative!" Soundwave growled. "Decepticons will crush Jazz, destroy all that is best within!"

"I'm not that fragile," Jazz protested.

Soundwave shook his helm. "No future in the Decepticons. Warriors blindly follow Megatron. Megatron: lost his way. Forgotten his promise," Soundwave said, almost sadly. "No future exists for Decepticons."

"Then we can run to the humans. They can protect us, shelter us from either faction."

Soundwave frowned. "Humans unable to withstand Cybertronian might."

"Political protection," Jazz clarified. "Prime won't be able to touch us, and as long as we stay one step ahead of the Decepticons, we can stay safe."

Soundwave felt the shackles that he had always tried to escape descend once more. He shook his helm. "Unable to rely on others. Our future, our security: ours." His fierce pride, his unquenchable need to control his own life, his own destiny, reared its helm within Soundwave. He couldn't trust the humans, couldn't turn over his life to their protection. Only he, and now Jazz, could he trust.

"Then we run," Jazz said simply. "Just us. We'll survive. We'll find a way. Together. We can trust _us_."

Soundwave nodded slowly, grateful for Jazz's understanding. "Should have built a ship," he finally said.

Jazz's mouth dropped open. "Was that a joke?" Soundwave looked away. Jazz smiled, a short burst of laughter exploding from him. He reached for his lover. "Soundwave," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Soundwave's visor burned as he looked deep into Jazz's optics. "Jazz," he whispered. "Be certain."

Jazz nodded, reaching up to cup Soundwave's cheek. "It's _you_. I _love_ you, Soundwave. I am so sorry." He tried to smile, though it was pained and dark. "Can you forgive me?"

Soundwave couldn't imagine a life without Jazz, not anymore. He'd seen the way life was supposed to be, through their love, and he couldn't go back to oblivion. He inhaled shakily, then turned into Jazz's touch, kissing at his palm. "Your darkness. Your confusion: fault of mine," he whispered. "Intentions not to cause damage. Deep apologies."

"I know," Jazz nodded. "It just took a while to figure everything out."

"Certainty attained?"

"I am." Jazz pressed close, grasping his helm with both hands. "Kiss me, please."

"Time: short," Soundwave grunted, though his engine was responding to Jazz's body, the charge in his systems skyrocketing. Jazz had been someone else's, and he wanted to eliminate every trace of Prowl from him. Jazz was his. Jazz had given himself to him.

"We have a moment," Jazz breathed.

Soundwave's optics flashed and he wrapped Jazz up in arms, dropping his helm for a long, lingering kiss.

* * *

The entire _Ark_ had poured out for the search. Ironhide barked orders, trying to get the squads in line. Everyone was stumbling over the revelations of Jazz's fleeing the _Ark_ and the guarded gossip of why. Reports of the attacks on Ratchet and Prowl sent the crew into wide-optic'd fits of near-panic.

Prowl, finally recovered, emerged from the _Ark_ with Prime at his side. His emotions were surging, anguish and terror over Jazz's flight overriding all else. He refused to think of the possibility that Jazz's words were true, but his spark was already imploding. "Alright everyone, listen up!" Prowl began. "We're searching for Jazz. He's being held hostage by the Decepticons, most likely Soundwave." His throat clenched as the Autobots all stared at him, wide optic'd and waiting for more. "He'll also most likely resist our attempts to rescue him." He paused. "He is gravely wounded and needs our help," Prowl added, his voice cracking.

"Standard grid searches, everyone," Prime interjected, taking over for Prowl. "Let's move out. Keep connected to Teletraan One and report back every 15 minutes."

Everyone acknowledged Prime's orders, then broke out into their squads. In the back, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stood together, loading their rifles.

Bluestreak caught sight of the twins. "What are you doing?" he snapped at Sunstreaker. "You can't come out, you've only just left the medbay!"

"I'm surprised you fragging know that," Sunstreaker grumbled, loading his laser core into his rifle. Next to him, Sideswipe onlined the targeting scope of his rifle, ignoring Bluestreak.

Bluestreak frowned. "You can't go out there!"

The rest of the mechs were rolling out, dropping into their alt modes and riding out in twos and threes. Grids on the networked search plan were being checked off, the names of the mechs highlighted on every mechs' HUD. Sideswipe keyed into the network, selecting a far off grid at the edge of the search pattern and well away from the main party.

Sunstreaker snorted, then turned back to Bluestreak. "It's not like you'll fragging miss us," he growled, dropping into his alt mode.

Ironhide pinged to them both. "Be careful out there. You're taking the far edge of the grid."

"Yeah, we know," Sideswipe grunted. He followed after Sunstreaker, blazing away from the _Ark_ and toward the mountainous forests.

Prowl frowned as the twins sped off, and he watched as the rest of the Autobots filled in the grid on his data pad before dropping into his own alt mode and joining the search. He and Red Alert headed out together, swinging to the far side of the _Ark's_ perimeter that stretched across the lowlands and out to the desert. His spark was burning, aching, and all he wanted to do was bring Jazz home safe. Even as he pleaded to Primus, though, begging for Jazz to be alright, the breaking of his spark screamed out that every word Jazz had said was true.

* * *

Jazz gasped as Soundwave's lips moved down his neck cables. Jazz's hands dragged over Soundwave's back, scratching up his shoulders, and Soundwave's engine roared. His lips moved up Jazz's audial and Jazz gasped again, his hands flying to Soundwave's helm and cupping his face. "Soundwave…"

"Say it again," Soundwave whispered, holding Jazz's gaze.

Jazz was panting, his engine racing, but he met Soundwave's optics and smiled. "I love you, Soundwave," he whispered. Soundwave exhaled, and he pushed everything out except the feel of Jazz's body. His love pulsed hard, and he tried to burn away all of Jazz's past loves, all he past memories, all of the other mechs who had touched him in this way. He wanted his love to be greater, stronger, deeper than all the rest, and the only love that Jazz wanted.

Jazz writhed as he bucked against Soundwave. He could let go, let himself go entirely in Soundwave's arms, and that was all he ever wanted.

* * *

Sideswipe trailed after Sunstreaker, racing nearly at full speed. The mountains loomed before them, forests and redwoods dotting the hillsides. "What do you think is going on with Jazz?" Sideswipe asked his brother over their comm.

"Dunno," Sunstreaker grunted. "But he's been weird for months. Ever since that attack with Mirage."

"Yeah," Sideswipe trailed off, thinking back to Prowl and the terribly wounded expression he'd tried to hide. Sideswipe, who had become an expert in reading Prowl's every expression, had seen through his stoic veneer. "Whatever is going on, it really hurt Prowl."

Nothing but dead air met his comms. Sideswipe tried to transmit and only received a squawk for his efforts. Braking hard, he flashed his brights, then swerved and transformed into a battle crouch. Sunstreaker instantly followed, staring at Sideswipe in confusion.

"We're not alone," Sideswipe whispered.

* * *

Prowl drove with Red Alert, pouring over the telemetry the other squads and teams were sending back. "Nothing," he sighed. "Not a single trace of Jazz anywhere."

Red Alert frowned. His data pad beeped, another teams' search results pinging in with another negative to report. His optics caught on the file waiting in his queue, untouched since that afternoon. "Sir," he began slowly. "There was an incident a few hours ago. A sonic boom." He turned to Prowl, slowly putting the pieces together as his paranoia raced ahead.

Prowl's helm whipped around, and he reached for Red Alert's data pad. He stared at the scanning telemetry, then cursed. "That's Soundwave," he growled. "Probably transmitting to Jazz." He swallowed roughly and pulled up the scan, zeroing in on the origination coordinates. "Slag," he whispered. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are in the grid."

He opened his comm line instantly. "Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Respond!"

Nothing.

* * *

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker crept up the hillside, their rifles drawn and fully charged. They moved slowly, weaving in and amongst the trees as their scanners wove a search pattern. Small rabbits, lizards, and birds blared on their readouts, but nothing larger than a forest creature registered.

"Why is there a communications block here?" Sideswipe whispered to his brother.

Sunstreaker shook his helm, peering around the trunk of redwood as they both crept on, moving in a low crouch. Up ahead at the top of the hillside, a grove of redwoods encircled a small clearing.

A faint pulse flashed over Sunstreaker's HUD. He froze, motioning for Sideswipe to halt. "I think I found something," he growled. "Up ahead. Top of the hill."

Sideswipe nodded, and they moved forward together slowly, rifles aimed to fire.

Jazz straddled Soundwave's lap, both arms encircling Soundwave's neck. He nuzzled Soundwave's neck, mouthing over his plating. Soundwave groaned, his hands sliding up Jazz's sideseams. Jazz gasped, his helm thrown back, his denta bared, and let the pleasure spike through his system. "Soundwave…" Jazz whispered, groaning. "I love you so much."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker froze at the edge of the grove, watching the two lovers, paralyzed. Sideswipe's optics blazed as he watched Jazz, his back arching as he cried out in pleasure, and Soundwave's denta biting down and scraping over his chestplates. _This can't be happening!_

Sunstreaker recovered first, and he dropped to fire as he took aim at Soundwave. Before Sideswipe could react, Sunstreaker fired, and the first shot burned through the grove, smashing into Soundwave's shoulder.

Soundwave grunted, gasping, and slumped forward as the pain of the laser blast shot through his systems. Smoke rose from his wound instantly, and Jazz scrambled backward, trying to pull Soundwave with him. Soundwave stumbled, trying to turn and shield Jazz in turn, but their movements were uncoordinated, still dazed from their interruption, and Sunstreaker fired again. His second shot tore through Soundwave's neck, just off center, destroying the cables on his left side.

Soundwave went down, offline.

Jazz's visor blazed, and he crouched down next to Soundwave as the energon began seeping from his wounds. His hands flew over his injuries, and he tried to press against the torn cables and lines, trying to stem the loss of fluids.

Sideswipe ran, tearing across the grove toward Jazz. He shoved his rifle hard into Jazz's face. "Get back, Jazz!" Sideswipe bellowed. "Get back!"

Jazz stared up at Sideswipe, then let his optics slide across to Sunstreaker. Soundwave's weakly pulsing energon continued to ooze out of his lines beneath his fingers. He growled, baring his denta, and glared at Sideswipe. "He's dying, you fraggers!"

"Good!" Sideswipe shouted. He pressed forward, his hands on his rifle shaking. "What are you doing?"

"Get away from Soundwave, Jazz," Sunstreaker growled, backing his brother up. Sunstreaker's optics narrowed as Jazz's gaze flicked between their two rifles. "I will shoot you, Jazz," Sunstreaker grunted. "Get. Back."

Slowly, hate pouring from him, Jazz moved back, sliding away from Soundwave's damaged body. His optics fixed to Sunstreaker as Sunstreaker crouched over Soundwave. "If he dies," Jazz began, "I will kill each of you. Slowly."

Sunstreaker spared one cold glare to Jazz as Sideswipe's rage exploded. "What the frag is wrong with you?" Sideswipe shouted. "That's Soundwave!" He shuddered, growling, and his hands squeezed over his pulse rifle, trembling.

Sunstreaker tilted his helm as he scanned Soundwave. "He's alive," he growled, rolling his gaze to Jazz. Along the way, his optics fell paint transfers, smears of Jazz's white paint on Soundwave's frame.

The twins' comm burst to life suddenly, five different signals all bursting to get through. Above everyone, Prowl's voice rang out. "Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Respond!"

"Sunstreaker here." He kept a steady optic on Soundwave, but trained his rifle on Jazz.

"We think Soundwave may be in your grid area. Use extreme caution. Have you found anything?"

Sunstreaker hesitated. "Yeah, Prowl, we did. You need to get over here now."

Sideswipe's hands trembled with the force of his anger as he glared at Jazz. "How could you do this to Prowl?" he shouted. "He loves you!"

Jazz said nothing. He stared up at Sideswipe, his optics cold beneath his shining visor.

"Prowl says you've been damaged, Jazz," Sunstreaker called out after he cut the comm line. "That you're being manipulated."

"He knows that's not true."

"How long has this been going on?" Sideswipe hissed. "How long have you been a _traitor_?" His optics burned, all of his love for Prowl turning to wrathful vengeance, directed at Jazz.

Smoothly, Jazz's helm titled to the side, and his optics fixed to Sideswipe's. "A long, _long_ time," he purred.

Sideswipe screamed, a guttural bellow bursting from his vocalizer. He stormed forward, nearly placing the tip of his rifle against Jazz's helm.

"Sideswipe!" his brother shouted. Sunstreaker raised his rifle and charged it to the highest setting. "Back off!"

"He's a traitor, Sunny!" Sideswipe hollered. "And he's hurt Prowl!"

"I know you love him," Jazz continued, never breaking optic contact with Sideswipe. "How much does this _hurt_? You'll never have him, you know. He doesn't even know you exist."

Bellowing, optics blind with rage, Sideswipe pressed forward again, but Sunstreaker's shouts stilled his movements. "Sideswipe! Stop! Do _not_ move!" Sunstreaker barked. "He's trying to get you riled up! He's trying to get you close! He wants to fight you!"

Jazz's optics burned into Sideswipe's as he sneered, and finally, with every ounce of strength that Sideswipe possessed, he broke off and pulled back, turning away from Jazz with a heaving gasp. Sunstreaker pulled up in his place, holding his rifle pointed at Jazz's spark and standing a healthy distance away. They may be the best frontliners n the Autobots, but Jazz would still give them a run for their rifles if he got to scrapping with them.

Sideswipe's vents heaved as he stood apart, and he tried to force his emotions down his throat, past the lump of agony lodged within. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of sirens, and then shouts as mechs clambered up the hillside. He turned and stared back at Jazz, imagining Prowl's face when he found out. His spark burned, aching suddenly with the full force of his love. _Prowl…_

Moments later, Prowl burst into the grove, flanked by Ironhide and Red Alert and followed by Bluestreak and Hound. Each had their weapons drawn and ready to fire, but as they took in the sight before them, Bluestreak slowly lowered his rifle in shock. Hound's optics blazed, and even Ironhide's mouth dropped open. Jazz's wrath, his visible malice, and his cold, hate all hit the Autobots full force.

Prowl forced everything within, forced his screaming spark to stillness. He stifled a tiny exhalation. Only Sideswipe, standing near him, heard the pained exhalation. Sideswipe's stared at Prowl's profile, his optics burning and melting out of their frames. _Prowl_, he whispered in his helm. _I'm so sorry…_

Prowl took in the scene slowly. Everyone was silent, watching him. "Report," he grunted.

"We found Jazz and Soundwave interfacing," Sunstreaker began without preamble.

Sideswipe stared at the ground, unable to watch Prowl.

"After taking down Soundwave, we attempted to approach Jazz. However-" Sunstreaker finally faltered. "The target is hostile, sir," he finished after a moment.

Jerkily, Prowl nodded. He stared at Soundwave. Buried in the leaves and the dirt, half underneath Soundwave's frame, was the edge of a data pad. Leaning over Soundwave, and holding his breath as he did so, Prowl plucked at the data pad. It onlined immediately, revealing the schematics of Wheeljack's virus. He inhaled, his jaw clenching too-hard.

All optics were still trained on him, including Jazz's. Prowl stared back, seeing nothing of the mech he loved. _Jazz, what have you done?_ he screamed within his helm.

Turning away, Prowl handed the data pad to Red Alert. "Arrest these mechs," he called out loudly, his voice belying a fake strength. "Transport them to the _Ark_ under heavy guard."

Shocked silence met his pronouncement. "The charges, sir?" Red Alert finally grunted. He swallowed as he prepared the orders for Teletraan One.

Prowl met Jazz's gaze. "Treason," he said, his voice firm and unyielding. His optics dropped to Soundwave. "And crimes of war."

Finally, Bluestreak gasped, and Ironhide and Sunstreaker moved together toward Jazz. Red Alert hefted his rifle, backing the two up. "Easy there, Jazz," Ironhide whispered. "No trouble, now."

Jazz stood willingly, holding his hands out for Red Alert to cuff. He face was blank, cold.

It was nothing like the Jazz Prowl knew. "Take Jazz to the medbay. Have Ratchet run a full scan of his processor. We need to know if he's being used or not."

Jazz smirked and shook his helm.

Red Alert kneeled by Soundwave, peering at the damage. "Prowl, Soundwave needs medical attention," he said, looking up at his commanding officer. "We need to summon Ratchet."

Prowl wanted to ignore Red Alert. He could still feel every mechs' optics burning into his plating. They had all seen, every single one of them, Jazz's betrayal with Soundwave. His personal betrayal. His lover, the love of his life, interfacing with a _Decepticon_… and not just any Decepticon. Prowl's spark shuddered, the last pangs of his spark's death throes sputtering and choking. Gasping, Prowl offlined his optics against the pain.

Nothing helped. His entire world had just been carried away, under arrest. He'd promised to save Jazz, to protect him from everything evil in the world, but the one thing he couldn't save Jazz from was his own dark choices.

"Sir?" Red Alert asked gently, standing.

Prowl nodded. "Comm Ratchet," he grunted, turning his back on Soundwave. "I want him alive for interrogation."

The mechs in the grove parted like the Red Sea before Prowl, shying from his presence as he pushed past, needing to escape. Sounds swam in his audials, colors blurred together, and the entire world seemed to somehow slow to a stop, all the rotation of the earth frozen. Everything was too slow and each drag of air was a painful lifetime of anguish. Prowl stared down, his optics burning, and pushed his way down the hillside. Sunlight streamed from above and a pair of songbirds chirped above, trilling in between the softly waving branches. It was the perfect day for his spark to shatter.

Behind him, Sideswipe watched Prowl. He could feel his spark breaking along with Prowl, for Prowl. His lips quivered, and he pressed his mouth together in a firm line. _Prowl, I love you,_ he said in his mind, over and over.

* * *

High above, circling in panicked swings, was Thundercracker. He stayed out of the Autobots' sensor range, but close enough to scan. Ratchet ran up the hillside, and then Soundwave, offline, was carried out. "Frag!" Thundercracker shouted. He tried to follow the Autobots, desperate to try to do something, anything. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be.

"Thundercracker!" Starscream shouted over the comm link. "Where are you? Megatron ordered you and Soundwave back to base an hour ago!"

Thundercracker heaved, groaning. How was he ever going to explain this? The Autobots marched on, now off the hillside, and Soundwave was loaded into Ratchet's hold. They all transformed, and the mass of Autobots headed back to the _Ark_, sirens blaring.

Shouting, Thundercracker pulled up, racing skyward. He rolled, then punched back toward the _Nemesis_. One Seeker wasn't enough against squads of Autobots, and they'd be long gone before he called for backup.

Soundwave was on his own.

* * *

The entire Ark was a tomb.

Prime had ensconced himself in his office, shutting everyone out, and the rest of the mechs existed in a half-dead state of shock. Jazz, one of their own, everyone's friend, had been arrested for treason. It was unbelievable, but it was also irrefutable.

It was also one of the last crimes still punishable by death.

Prowl and the rest of the Command Team hovered outside the medbay as Ratchet and Wheeljack worked through Jazz's processor. Tangentially, they were also repairing Soundwave, but Prowl didn't care about that. Every hope he'd ever had was fading away, though tried to cling to Ratchet's scans. _Find something…_ he whispered.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker huddled together, meticulously cleaning their rifles over and over as they waited down the hallway, watching the medbay. Red Alert had haltingly taken their reports earlier, but Sunstreaker edited out the brunt of Jazz's jibes against Sideswipe. He did, however, repeat that Jazz had stated that the affair had been going on for a long time.

Prowl forced himself to not react.

The rest of the crew was scattered, waiting. Was Jazz truly a traitor? Sideswipe's optics never left Prowl, and spark broke anew with every shudder and pained grimace that Sideswipe saw Prowl try to hide.

Finally, hours later, Ratchet emerged from the medbay, sighing. He said nothing, merely shook his helm. There was nothing, not a thing, in Jazz's processor that was controlling him. His actions were his own.

Prowl nodded to Ironhide and Red Alert. Ironhide motioned for Sunstreaker to join him, and together, Ironhide, Red Alert, and Sunstreaker entered the medbay. Prowl remained outside, staring at nothing, and Sideswipe stared at Prowl.

Inside, Red Alert read Jazz his charges: treason, providing aid and comfort to the enemy, assault and attempted murder of Autobots and Autobot officers.

Jazz listened, his optics on Soundwave across the medbay, unconscious on his berth, and never said a word.

Ironhide and Sunstreaker heaved Jazz up by the arms and Red Alert led the party down the packed corridor to the brig. Nearly the entire crew lined the hallways, watching with burning optics and shocked stares. Jazz held his helm high.

Prowl watched them go, then slipped away. Sideswipe followed, pushing through the crowd to trail after him. He fell behind, and Prowl slipped into his office before Sideswipe could catch up. He didn't know what he would do if he caught Prowl, or what he could say.

Sideswipe stood alone, silent in the corridor as he listened to Prowl's anguished bellows behind his locked door. His spark shattered, each one of Prowl's furious sobs cutting deep into his soul.

* * *

**Music**:

Jazz: "Gotta Leave" Back Door Slam - watch?v=8Yh1ZNFtapI

Soundwave: "My Never" Blue October - watch?v=jcWNcPIwl4I

Prowl: "Over" Evans Blue - watch?v=5uqUAxNsCE4

Sideswipe: "Vulnerable" Secondhand Serenade - watch?v=zAxNtM68-vw

* * *

**Thank you for still reading**.


	12. Chapter 12

**Fracture Mechanics 12**

* * *

"Prowl..." Prime peered at Prowl across his desk. Prowl was slumped in his chair, his doorwings drooping, shoulders sagging, and his helm thrown back against the chair carelessly. He'd stalked into Prime's office with dark optics and a heavy scowl, and then had collapsed into his chair without a word. "Are you overcharged?"

Prowl's helm slowly lifted. He stared at Prime, his optics crinkling around the edges with static. The scent of high grade floated from his plating. "Yes," he grunted, nodding slowly. It was nine in the morning.

His night had been terrible, if it could be measured at all. How does a mech quantify the pain from the loss of their lover? Their most cherished partner, the mech they loved most in the universe? Prowl's vents hitched every time he thought about it, and his spark blazed, shattering anew at every memory. He couldn't _not_ think about what had happened. His processor traveled back to those moments, to when Jazz had struck him, the twist and snarl of his expression, and then to the grove, and the perfect sunlight cast against Jazz's hate and wrath.

Jazz was with Soundwave. He was _with_ Soundwave, intimate with Soundwave, and sharing secrets with Soundwave. He'd betrayed them all, betrayed the Autobots and his friends, and betrayed Prowl and his spark. Jazz had given _everything_ to Soundwave, and Prowl wasn't sure which hurt worse. The loss of his lover, or the loss of his friend.

Rage, perfect, unadulterated rage had settled into his soul as the night wore on. It was pure, full and all encompassing. What had happened? What had befallen them, and how? How could any of this have happened?

His wrath fixed onto Soundwave. Everything was fine, just fine, bordering on perfect, before Soundwave's invasion into their lives. One attack by Soundwave, one forced entry into Jazz's processor, and everything had changed. Prowl had done everything he could, tried to _be_ everything he could, tried to care for Jazz enough, love him enough, to erase the pain and horror of Soundwave's attack. How could he compete, with a fantasy of peace and of a perfect world back on Cybertron?

He'd wanted to save Jazz, but Jazz never wanted to be saved. Jazz wanted his fantasy, and instead of trying to return to where he belonged, he'd done everything he could to remake that with Soundwave in the real world.

How dare he. How dare Jazz toss away his life, toss away the life that he had woven with his friends, the Autobots, and with Prowl. They were right on the edge, right on the verge, and Prowl had almost kissed him right before he'd set out with Mirage on that fateful day so long ago. If he could have _one_ moment, any one moment back in his life, it would be that _one_ hesitation where their optics had met and Prowl had smiled instead of reaching out, and then watched Jazz head off with Mirage. _When he gets back_, he'd thought, _we'll have time_.

It was all Soundwave's fault. All of it.

Prowl's thoughts had swirled around and over themselves, burning into his processor and crashing into each other as the hours of the night wore on. Sometime around three in the morning, Ratchet comm'd him to let him know that Soundwave was coming around. He was onlining in their medbay, safe, warm, and on the mend – thanks to Ratchet – and what should Ratchet do with him?

Prowl had several ideas.

He stalked out of his office and headed down to the medbay, tripping over Sideswipe on the way. Sideswipe was lurking the corridor for reasons Prowl could only guess at. _Probably to gloat. Or to make some wise crack at my inability to keep Jazz_, Prowl thought darkly. _Leave it to Sideswipe to harp on my failures. _

And what a failure. He'd lost Jazz, the light in his life, to a Decepticon. A murderer. A war criminal.

Prowl pushed past Sideswipe, oddly silent, and snarled at him when he tried to open his mouth. He was in no mood for the twin's antics. Sideswipe stared after him as he trudged down the corridor, his optics slowly filling with static.

Soundwave was groggy when Prowl arrived at the medbay, and Sunstreaker and Ironhide flanked Ratchet, each holding the largest rifles they owned. They'd returned to stand guard over Soundwave after securing Jazz in the brig. Red Alert watched over Jazz throughout the night in his cell.

"Has he said anything?" Prowl growled. He stared at Soundwave, all the depths of his black rage, his perfect fury, focusing in on the Decepticon.

Ratchet shook his helm. "He's pretty out of it, Prowl. He lost a lot of energon from Sunny's shot, and we doped him up to keep him under."

Prowl's optics narrowed. He didn't want to hear that Soundwave had been resting painlessly. He wanted Soundwave to suffer. Prowl turned his helm and glanced at Sunstreaker over his shoulder. "The one time you ever missed a shot, Sunstreaker," Prowl grunted. Sunstreaker looked away.

"Red Alert is ready to transfer him to the brig," Ratchet continued. Soundwave was lying on the berth, his visor dim and breaths slow and heavy. "It will be good to move him now, while he's still groggy."

"Did you get anything, Ratchet?"

Swallowing, Ratchet shook his helm. "You know I don't do that, Prowl," he said, setting down his spanner with a soft click.

Silence filled the medbay as Prowl stared at Soundwave's body. Slowly, Soundwave tried to move his hands, but all he managed was a slight waggle of his fingers. Prowl motioned to Ironhide and Sunstreaker with a flick of his helm. "Move him."

Together, Ironhide and Sunstreaker manhandled Soundwave to his feet, then dragged the cuffed mech out. Soundwave stumbled, unable to keep his feet beneath him, and his helm lolled forward as the two mechs physically dragged him the entire way. Prowl followed, his steps slow and measured against the decking, sharp, even clicks echoing down the corridor.

Red Alert met the group at the brig. His monitors showed a live feed of Jazz, sitting in his cell with his back against the bulkhead, visor offline and arms in his lap. Prowl's spark lurched. _Aren't you sorry at all?_

Their brig was small, and two cells had already been converted into storage bays. Red Alert set up the cell next to Jazz for Soundwave. Ironhide and Sunstreaker dropped him unceremoniously on the decking. For a moment, Prowl thought Sunstreaker was going to spit at Soundwave, but all the yellow twin did was step over his body. His foot dragged across his chest roughly, though, and Soundwave grunted.

Ironhide and Sunstreaker filed past Prowl, not looking at him, and Red Alert shifted nervously near the doorway, watching Prowl standing motionless in front of Jazz's cell.

Jazz had onlined his visor as Soundwave was carted into his cell, but hadn't moved. He stared at Prowl, silent and still.

All of Prowl's dark, burning emotions, all his rage, agony, and betrayal, burst forth, exploding out of his spark. "How could you?" Prowl whispered, his vocalizer shaking.

Jazz remained silent.

"How could you?" Prowl repeated. He stood too-close to the electrified bars. "How could you!" he bellowed. His shout bounced around the brig. "You betrayed _everyone_!" he hollered. "For _what_?" Still, Jazz was silent. "Why?" Prowl hissed.

Jazz offlined his optics.

"I loved you!" Prowl bellowed, his control finally shattering. "I loved you! Don't you understand!" Prowl's voice finally cracked, breaking. "I love you..."

Still, Jazz said nothing. Prowl's vents heaved as his spark shattered over and over before he finally forced himself to move. He headed to the door, lost in a fog, a haze of incomprehension, and his world fell apart around him with every step. Darkness poured in all around, and Prowl barely heard Red Alert's, "You alright, Prowl?" grunted at him through clenched gears.

Calamity had come, and it was here to stay.

When Prowl returned to his office, the hiss of the closing doors finally broke the rush and roar of his anguished fury. He stood, stock still, in the silence that followed. His optics finally landed on the crystal garden Jazz had toppled only months before, and that he had carefully tried to salvage. Thoughts of Jazz sprang to his mind again, memories, images, thoughts, feelings. Everything was tainted, everything was covered in brutalized memory. There wasn't a place to escape.

With a bellow, Prowl finally exploded. He lashed out at the memories, physically tearing into them. Devastation ensued, crashing through his office, and his crystal garden was obliterated, followed by his pictures, and then his desk, toppled onto its side. Through it all, the memories of Jazz, in his arms, in Soundwave's arms, staring at him with hateful optics, and then grabbing his throat, trying to kill him, all played in an endless, torturous loop.

And that's when the drinking began. It continued, all the way to the morning, when Prowl was summoned to Prime's office.

Prime hadn't left his office all night either, and was an exhausted heap of old circuits when Prowl finally arrived.

Prime sighed deeply and looked down at his hands, folded over each other on his desktop surface. Prowl's helm tipped back once more, resting on the chair's back. "Prowl, I understand your emotions," Prime began.

Prowl's helm rose again, fixing Prime with a steely glare. His look called Prime a liar.

Prime sighed again. "I'm sorry, Prowl. There isn't a single moment of my command where I ever imagined that this could ever happen." Prime's gaze faded into the distance. He'd known Jazz for years, had relied on him for years, and Prowl and Jazz had been his right and left hands for so long. They were his rocks, his foundations, and with this revelation, Prime was cast adrift. He felt as if a part of his circuitry were ripped out, a vital component missing. Worse, it had turned against him.

How much more intense that pain had to be for Prowl. Prime had watched their friendship develop slowly, then subtly shift into something else. He'd never intervened in their slow courtship. Perhaps that had been a mistake, in hindsight. Hindsight, of course, was perfect.

"We have to have a tribunal, Prowl," Prime continued. "We have to seek justice, and soon. Soundwave's presence here makes us a target. And Jazz..." He trailed off.

Prowl nodded. "And command officers preside over all tribunals." He shook his helm as a bitter smile distorted his features. "This is why officers should never be 'involved," he said, his voice full of irony.

Prime couldn't argue with that one. Prowl would be presiding over the tribunal – and possible death sentence – of his ex-lover.

* * *

"You dare to go behind my plating!" Megatron bellowed, his voice booming around the _Nemesis_ command deck. He swung, backhanding Thundercracker hard across his face.

Thundercracker, already panting and sporting a split lip, flew backward with a pained grunt. He landed on his wing, twisting it as he fell.

Megatron stormed across the deck to Thundercracker's crumple. He snarled, then hefted his heavy pede and slammed it down against Thundercracker's wing. Howling, Thundercracker tried to scrabble away, but Megatron had him pinned. Behind Megatron, Starscream watched the display silently.

"You and Soundwave were playing a little game, were you?" Megatron rasped. "Playing Autobots? Playing traitor?" He ground his pede into Thundercracker's wing.

"No!" Thundercracker gasped. "No, Megatron! Soundwave was trying to help!" He cringed, trying to ride out the pain. "He got intelligence from the Autobot!"

"Intelligence you neglected to share," Megatron ground out through clenched denta as he dug his heel into Thundercracker's wing again, crushing the wing edge. Thundercracker howled.

"He did!" Thundercracker gasped, pressing his face to the decking as he tried to escape. "He did! The Autobot Lamborghinis! He found out how to stop their jet judo!" Thundercracker slapped at the plating beneath him as his optics fritzed against the pain.

"And where in this intelligence mission does Soundwave fragging the Autobot fit in?" Megatron hollered. He twisted, and bits of metal began to sheer off the Seeker's body.

Thundercracker didn't answer, instead just gritting his denta as he hissed. "Please…" he whispered, his optics fading. "Please!"

Megatron finally let up, pushing Thundercracker's crumpled body away with a snarl. He glared at Starscream as he raised his canon. "Starscream," he boomed. "Do you wish to beg for the life of this traitorous piece of scrap?"

Panting, Thundercracker turned his helm, scratching his plating against the deck, and his blazing optics burned into Starscream's cold, silent glare. ::It was all for us!:: Thundercracker pushed over their trine bond.

Starscream was silent.

"You're out of luck, Thundercracker," Megatron hissed. His canon whined, charging to fire.

Starscream didn't move. He stared back at Thundercracker as the blue Seeker's fingers dug into the decking next to his face.

::Starscream! I swear! I swear! I would never turn against our trine!:: Thundercracker's optics streaked with white static as Megatron's canon whined at full charge. ::It was for our plans!::

Finally, Starscream's expression shifted, slightly. His optics narrowed the tiniest fraction.

"You should _never_ have betrayed me," Megatron rumbled. His fingers clenched as he prepared to fire.

"Wait!" Starscream snapped, stepping forward. "Hold your fire!"

Megatron glared at Starscream as Thundercracker let out a whoosh of breath, planting his face in the decking as he gasped in relief.

"You want to spare this traitorous scrap heap?" Megatron glared at Starscream.

"I don't," Starscream snarled. "There are, however, no qualified Seekers to replace him with. A worthless piece of scrap he may be, but he is the only flier I would have in my trine." Starscream's optics burned into Thundercracker's.

Megatron slowly powered down his arm canon, and he moved well into Starscream's personal space. Looming above the Seeker, Megatron hissed, "If he steps a _micron_ out of line, it will be _your_ helm that goes, Starscream." His lips curled upward. "I have even less of a need for another traitor than I have for you." A pointed stare, and then Megatron moved off, stalking out of the Command Deck.

"Starscream…" Thundercracker gasped, wincing. "Thank you."

Starscream's helm shot back to Thundercracker. "I will deal with you later," he hissed. "Get up! Megatron wants us to retrieve Soundwave!"

* * *

"There is no way around this one, Prime," Prowl said, shaking his helm. His overcharge was beginning to wear off, leaving behind the ache of tired, overexerted circuits.

"We cannot _not_ try them," Prime sighed heavily. "Our identity as Autobots, our code of laws, is the only civilization we have left. If we want to preserve our culture and any modicum of civilization, we must cling to the laws that bind us all." He shook his helm. "If we do _not_ try them both, we'll be abandoning the values we hold to: justice, fairness, equality. The twins, the crew, and everyone else are victims, and they need to be heard. If we chose to ignore trying Jazz and Soundwave, we're taking away _their_ rights."

Prowl nodded again. "Jazz's guilt is qualitatively certain," he choked. "Soundwave… We've always known about his war crimes. Red Alert is pulling together a file from the beginning of the war to now." He shook his helm. "After the tribunal, if we chose to not sentence either mech, we'll be putting the crew in danger. Megatron will never stop attacking us as long as we hold Soundwave."

"And if we terminate him, Megatron's wrath will hold no limit."

Again, Prowl nodded. "And Jazz -" His voice choked off, and he looked away. Primus, why did Jazz have to do this? "He didn't just turn against the Autobots, or against me," he grunted. "He put other mechs directly in danger. He's party to the attempted murder of the twins. He-" Prowl couldn't continue.

"He tried to kill you," Prime finished. He sighed. "He left us no room to wiggle. Oh, Jazz." Prime shook his helm. "How did this happen?"

"The Decepticons always loved to scream about Autobot injustice." Prowl swallowed. "However, if we choose to not enforce this penalty on Jazz if he's found guilty, we'll be guilty ourselves. We will be guilty of the very injustice the Decepticons have always accused us of."

"Of selectively pardoning our own mechs over all others," Prime grumbled. Prowl nodded. "Is there some sort of legal defense we can give to Jazz?"

Prowl's expression shifted. "No," he grunted. "Jazz has all but admitted his guilt, and I doubt he'd recant in the tribunal. We also cannot retroactively grant him conscious objector status. He did not simply renounce the war or the Autobots. He actively worked against us." Prowl swallowed again. "He betrayed us, militarily."

"And the pacifist defense won't hold either." Prime's hand tiredly rubbed over his helm. "I do not want to do this," he admitted.

Prowl stared back at Prime with dead optics. The entire situation wasn't on his list of enjoyable pursuits either.

"There's no way out of this, then," Prime agreed slowly. "Not if we are to preserve our laws and ethics." He sighed, drumming his fingers against his data pad. "How do we keep the crew safe throughout the tribunal? Having Soundwave here, being tried and possibly executed, is the biggest target we've ever created for ourselves."

Prowl nodded. He wondered if they could just shoot Soundwave now and be done with it. The need for protracted security measures would be eliminated. His dark rage clawed forth, desperate to lash out and ravage Soundwave. He hated him, hated him with a fierce purity and a fiery, burning passion. He wanted to erase him from the universe, banish his existence, end his every breath. "We'll need extra patrols, sir," Prowl began slowly, forcing himself to concentrate. "The Protectobots and Aerialbots can begin extended patrols, and we should alert the humans that we're moving to our highest security level. They can also add some measures of protection, or at least keep an optic out for suspicious activity."

"Let's implement that at once." Prowl nodded and made a short, terse note on his data pad, scribbling instead of writing with his normally smooth glyphs.

Prime stared at his friend, pressing his lips together in a thin line. "Prowl," he said after a moment. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Prowl's processor swam, the simple question releasing his thin hold on his raging emotions once again. The world slowed, everything processing at a different speed and color. Everything was sluggish, cold, and grey. Only ghosts seemed to move about him. Prime, on the other side of his desk, was a distant phantom, speaking through a haze of pain and unreality. Voices penetrated his processor from afar, whispers and shouts from too far away echoing within his helm. His lines filled with ice, with the cold fury of rage isolating him from the rest of the world. And his soul… his spark had turned in on itself so many times, twisting and burning and bursting until there was nothing left but agony. He only knew he still had a spark by the oblivion of anguish hollowing his chest. It would be better if it were gone, dead.

Prowl had never before felt such a purity of hate, and had never before truly understood the impenetrable depths of black hate he was capable of. To walk with a heavy heart, to tread with dreary footsteps. To have one's soul filled with the furious stupefaction of rage. Envy, poisonous and insidious, flooding into every circuit, painting everything with its deathly, cold touch. There was nothing in Prowl's life that hadn't been imbued with Jazz, and no retreat existed to fall back to where he was safe from the ravages of his tortured spark. Every gesture of his life had grown full of Jazz, and nothing was Prowl's any longer.

He was adrift, listless, cast aside, thrown away, and the fulcrum of his world had suddenly been ripped away. His compass rose, the direction he had steadily built his life around, was gone. He _had_ nothing. He _was_ nothing.

Except… his fury coiled tight around a thirst so deadly, so cold, so painfully burning that he couldn't escape it. _Revenge_. Vengeance. Recompense. It would be his. Soundwave's demise, his fall, his death, was something so deliciously needed that he could _taste_ it.

Prowl gasped against the intensity of his need. Oh yes, he wanted Soundwave to die.

"Prowl?" Prime's voice broke through Prowl's foggy haze, and he peered at Prowl worriedly. "Maybe you should go back to your quarters, take some time off." Prime didn't know what to say, not in this situation.

Prowl shook his helm. His quarters were the last place he wanted to be. He and Jazz had effectively lived together within his quarters for the past few months, and just as the rest of his life, there wasn't a single speck of his quarters that hadn't been imbued with Jazz's presence. "I'm fine," he choked out, lying. "I need to- I need to be here. Doing."

"I think you need some time-" Prime began.

Ironhide's rough voice broke over the comm lines. "Prime!" he shouted, just as the alert blared to life. "The Decepticons are attacking! Seems they want Soundwave back!"

Cursing, Prowl jumped to his feet, Prime right behind him. They raced to out to the Command Deck, and Prime shouted over the blaring of the battle alert. "Where are they?"

"They attacked our patrol at the southern edge!" Ironhide keyed up the telemetry from their sensor grid. Hound, Cliffjumper, and Bumblebee were all calling for aid as they tried to return fire on seemingly the totality of the Decepticon army. Seekers screamed overhead, and Megatron fired shots at the boulders the patrol was using for cover, obliterating the rocks to dust. The Autobots wouldn't have much cover left at the rate Megatron was going. Comm signals for all the Decepticons popped up on the terminal. Primus, they had emptied the _Nemesis_ for this battle.

"Let's roll out!" Prime shouted. "Get the squads out right away!" He turned to Prowl as Ironhide began barking orders into the comm. "Prowl, perhaps you should stay-"

"No, I'm coming," Prowl said, pulling his rifle from his subspace. He charged it to full power, a dark gleam in his optics. His energon pounded, racing through his lines.

Prime nodded, and they began jogging off the Command deck together. "Red Alert will stay and secure the _Ark_. Have Wheeljack back him up on the Command Deck. We need to keep an optic on our prisoners as well." Prime's expression was grim.

Prowl comm'd Wheeljack with the instructions as he and Prime raced out of the _Ark_. Ironhide was already leading the squads ahead of them on a furious drive out to the battle, ready to support their patrol under attack. Distantly, plumes of smoke and dirt and dark shapes flying through the sky marred the horizon. The sun was shining, and the sky was a perfectly clear blue, only tender strands of clouds teasing high in the air. The air was crisp and warm. Prowl, however, could feel nothing except for the burning need to destroy. No warmth touched his plating, and only the roar of energon pounding through his lines kept him going.

* * *

Megatron rasped to Starscream over the Decepticon comm lines. "Are you in position?"

"We're close," Starscream snapped back. "Have you done your part?"

"They're on their way," Megatron growled before cutting the line. He grinned as the Autobots flooded into their battle zone, backing up their fledgling patrol cowering for cover. Prime brought up the rear, and he transformed as soon as he saw Megatron.

"Megatron!" Prime boomed. "Seems you have a problem in your ranks!"

Megatron's denta bared as he grinned. "The only problem I have, Prime, is your continued existence." He raised his canon and charged to fire.

Prowl ran for Hound's position, settling in next to Bluestreak. His optics scanned the battlefield, and he spied Sunstreaker and Sideswipe hunkered down, back to back, firing into the sky. He growled, once again reminded of Jazz. The twins weren't going to be doing any Jet Judo today. They'd just have to work on taking out the Seekers from the ground until the Aerialbots arrived.

On cue, the sound of the Aerialbots roaring in from behind the Autobots broke over the ranks. Silverbolt led the spread of Autobot fliers, and they broke into two groups as they streaked into the Decepticon airspace.

Prowl turned his attentions back to the battlefield. Hound and Bluestreak were firing on Motormaster, who charged Ironhide with a growl. The rest of the Stunticons were racing toward Ironhide behind their leader, and Bluestreak and Hound worked on picking them off with shots as Brawn ran to Ironhide's side.

"Watch it, Fireflight!" Slingshot called over the battlenet. "You're too far out!"

"I can't find Starscream!" Fireflight called back, his voice scratchy with distance. "His signal is supposed to be right on top of Sunstorm's!" Fireflight chased after Sunstorm as the Seeker led him further and further from the battle and through the wispy clouds.

"Bring it back in close, Fireflight!" Silverbolt ordered. "Screamer will show up when his cowardice lets him!"

Snorting, Air Raid chuckled over the battlenet. "That'll be never."

"Where's the rest of his trine?" Skydive asked, forming up alongside Fireflight. "I can see their beacons on the radar, but I can't find them."

"No time for all that thinking, Skydive!" Slingshot shouted, flipping around to chase Thrust and Dirge beneath the clouds. "More firing! Less talking!"

The Aerialbots words slipped through Prowl's processor, tumbling around each other. Something, somewhere wasn't right. He scanned the battlefield, taking in Megatron and Prime, grappling against each other, Ironhide and Motormaster, the twins firing upward, trying to support the Aerialbots awkwardly as they struggled to redefine their roles on the ground, and Bluestreak and Hound, picking off the Decepticons from their range. The battle seemed normal, chaotic and frantic, but something was missing. The Aerialbots jibes at Starscream were common, and the Seeker was famous for his unreliability. This was not an uncommon occurrence.

Still… Prowl comm'd the _Ark_. "Prowl to _Ark_."

Dead air met his comm.

Dark rage pushed through Prowl's body all at once. Soundwave was there, back in the _Ark_. Starscream and his trine… their signals were here, but those could be faked. "Silverbolt!" Prowl shouted into the comm. "Do you have optics on Starscream or his trine?"

"Negative, Prowl," Silverbolt called back.

"Frag!" he shouted, pushing himself up from his crouch behind the cover he shared with Bluestreak and Hound. Hound turned perplexed optics to him as Prowl began running away from the battle.

"Prowl?"

"This isn't the right battle!" Prowl shouted. He ran, sub-spacing his rifle before dropping into his alt mode. He skidded in the dirt and gunned his engine.

Behind him, Sideswipe turned, staring after Prowl's frantic flee back to base. He briefly met Hound's confused optics, then heard Prowl's shouts.

"Where is Prowl going?" Silverbolt called from above.

"Watch out, Prowl!" Slingshot shouted. The Aerialbot was chasing down Thrust as Thrust tore after Prowl's escape.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe reacted instantly, racing after his wild tear toward the _Ark_. He fired as he ran, spraying Thrust's undercarriage with laser fire. Thrust peeled off, and Slingshot followed, racing away. Sideswipe kept running after Prowl, and he finally dropped into his alt mode, letting his engine roar at he followed after him.

"Sides?" Sunstreaker comm'd him privately.

"Stay with the others, I'm going with Prowl!" Sunstreaker cut the line. Even if the battle was a ruse, they couldn't just pack up and leave. They still had to fight back the Decepticons. Sunstreaker raised his rifle and fired after the Seekers trying to chase after his brother and Prowl. They broke, scurrying back to the Decepticon airspace.

Sideswipe raced after Prowl, his engine roaring as fast as it could. Prowl wasn't as fast as he was, but he hid a deceptively powerful engine within his frame. Prowl was fond of saying that he had to be as powerful as the rule breakers – namely, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker – in order to catch and punish them. Sideswipe was faster, still, but Prowl's head start was lengthy, and he wasn't able to close the distance. Sideswipe chewed on Prowl's fumes as they headed back, but his optics caught on the smoke rising from the side of their volcano, the fire burning from the entrance, and the shapes of three dark Seekers flying above the _Ark_. Scattered outside, the hulking forms of three Constructicons cast dark shadows against their home.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe shouted as he saw Prowl gun his engine harder. "You can't just barrel through that!"

Prowl ignored Sideswipe. Sideswipe wasn't sure if Prowl even knew he was there. Growling, Sideswipe slid out of his alt mode and crouched low, firing shots at the Constructicons as Prowl barreled ahead. The Constructicons scattered, only belatedly realizing that Prowl was screaming toward their position, and Sideswipe cleanly picked them off. They fell to the ground, knocked offline, and Sideswipe scrambled to his feet as he raced after Prowl.

Inside the _Ark_, chaos reigned. Smoke filled the air, the alert still blaring through the haze. Prowl raced down the hallways, the char marks growing darker on the walls, as he headed toward the brig. Halfway there he found Red Alert, offline with a char mark on his shoulder and hip, and slumped against the bulkheads. Prowl quickly checked him over – he was alive – and pushed on.

The brig was a cacophony of destruction. The Seekers had hoisted the Constructicons up to the topside of the _Ark's_ exterior bulkheads, and they had cut through the rocky covering and into the ship's hull over the brig. Cutting and cursing filled the air along with the smoke. Prowl ducked down at the doorway, then turned and fired into the smoke-filled mess. His optics searched, trying to pick up the location of his targets.

Angry shouts met his shots. "Fire back!" Starscream called, his scratchy voice unmistakable through the chaos. Shots rang out, peppering the doorframe just as Sideswipe ran up beside Prowl.

"What are you doing here?" Prowl growled.

"Can't let you run off on your own without backup," Sideswipe said quickly, waiting for the shots to subside. "Cover me, I'll move to the other side." Prowl swung around and laid down cover fire as Sideswipe dove across the entrance.

"Hurry up!" Starscream shrieked. The Constructicons kept working, and the cutting sounds of metal screaming against metal set Prowl's denta on edge. He glanced inside quickly, then ducked back as a shot nearly took out his helm. The Constructions were almost through Soundwave's cell. He couldn't see Jazz at all.

Finally, the enclosure around Soundwave broke. Skywarp and Scrapper hefted it away, tossing the heavy cell door to the side. Inside, Soundwave pressed back against the far bulkhead, glaring at the Decepticons.

"C'mere, traitor," Skywarp hissed. Soundwave made no move toward Skywarp. "Oh, want to stay an Autobot, huh?" Skywarp grinned. "I always knew there was something wrong with you." He raised his arm, charging his ray, and fired.

"No!" Jazz shouted, hearing the hiss and whine of the charging ray. Prowl's helm instantly turned at the sound of Jazz's voice, and his entire being tensed.

"What have you done!" Jazz shouted.

Skywarp hefted Soundwave into his arms as he prepared to take off.

Far above, Thundercracker hovered next to Starscream, a dark expression clouding his bruised and battered face. He stared down at Jazz, still locked in his cell, his optics cold and pained. There wasn't anything he could do.

"So it's you, hmm?" Starscream purred at Jazz, dropping into the _Ark's_ brig. "You're the mech who captured Soundwave's attentions." He sneered. "Soundwave never was known for his _taste_."

Jazz growled, slamming his fists against his cell bars. "What have you done to him?" he shouted again.

"We're taking him back where he belongs!" Starscream snapped. "And as for you…" Starscream raised his null ray and pointed it right at Jazz's chest. Thundercracker looked away.

Prowl roared, then charged inside the brig. Cursing, Sideswipe followed, and together they sprayed the room with laser fire. Starscream shrieked and took off, rising straight into the air. The Constructicons had already piled out of the brig, and Thundercracker moved to help Skywarp with the heavy load of Soundwave's offline body. "You've lost again!" Starscream screamed down into the brig. "Here, take a goodbye gift!" He fired his null rays into the hole the Constructicons had blasted.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe dove, grabbing Prowl from behind and pulling him clear. Jazz ducked down as far as he could in the far corner, and in the explosive impact of Starscream's shots, the brig collapsed down onto itself. Only the frame of Jazz's cell kept the bulkhead from crushing them all. Jazz's cell broke open, torn in the corner, and as Prowl dazedly picked himself up from where Sideswipe had thrown him, he saw Jazz pushing his way out of the cell.

"Jazz, are you alright?" Prowl asked, struggling to stand. He tried to move to Jazz, but Jazz scooped up Prowl's rifle, lost in the explosion, and pointed it straight at Prowl. "What are you doing?" Prowl hissed.

The sounds of the Seekers blasting away from the _Ark_ faded. They were getting away, and taking Soundwave with them. "Get out of my way," Jazz said, his voice low and dark.

"What are you doing?" Prowl shouted, refusing to budge. The brig groaned, the struts of the ship creaking . His optics darted around the collapsing brig, but Jazz's gaze never left his body.

"I'm going after him," Jazz said, closing in on Prowl. "And you are not going to stop me." Jazz charged Prowl's rifle, and the hum of the weapon fought with the sounds of the brig's creaking. It would all collapse soon, and if they were still there, arguing, it would collapse right on top of them.

"Jazz, don't!"

"Prowl?" Sideswipe's voice, coughing, finally joined in. The twin pushed himself up, then winced. His leg was caught beneath a twisted piece of fallen bulkhead and he was pinned to the decking. He froze as he heard the ship creaking, another long, ominous groan of imminent collapse sounding through the brig. "Prowl, I'm stuck," Sideswipe called, his optics warily watching the two mechs. He tried to reach for his rifle, but it was far out of his reach, thrown clear in the explosion.

"I am not backing down, Prowl," Jazz said flatly. "We can square off until the brig collapses around us or you can help Sideswipe." His finger squeezed down on the trigger, ready to fire. "Or I can shoot you and leave you both here."

Prowl stared at Jazz. His optics pleaded, burning into Jazz's cold gaze. _This isn't you!_ He shouted in his helm. _This can't be you!_

"Prowl?" Sideswipe voice, coughing on the dust of shattered metal, finally broke his staring contest with Jazz. Cursing, he dropped to Sideswipe's side and watched as Jazz tore past him out of the brig. Prowl pulled roughly at the collapsed panels that pinned Sideswipe as the brig groaned all around them. "Not much time," Sideswipe whispered, glancing warily at the bulkheads.

"Had to get stuck, didn't you," Prowl snapped, growling.

Sideswipe stared at Prowl, his optics wounded. He looked away. _Had to save you._

Finally, Sideswipe was free, and Prowl helped heft Sideswipe to his feet before they both raced out of the brig. An almighty groan erupted behind them, and half of the brig collapsed in their wake. Sideswipe stared back, wide optic'd, but Prowl pushed ahead, racing after Jazz. "Prowl!" Sideswipe shouted. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not leaving Jazz!" Prowl snapped over his shoulder. He dropped into his alt mode as he picked up Jazz's trail, and his HUD flashed the blazing path Jazz had driven off the _Ark_ in pursuit of the Decepticons.

Prowl followed, pushing his engine to the max.

Cursing, Sideswipe limped after Prowl before falling to his alt mode. He roared after, surging his engine as he followed Prowl following Jazz.

He couldn't leave Prowl either.

* * *

"You were the _last_ mech I ever expected to turn against me." Megatron stalked Soundwave in a circle, slowly.

The Decepticons had retreated to one of their stateside hideouts, an old base from earlier operations, carved out of the earth and rock. Ironically, Thundercracker had revealed that Soundwave and Jazz had used it for their rendezvous. Now, Soundwave knelt down in the middle of the cavernous empty space that had served as Megatron's command center, panting and trembling. Energon leaked from his lips and a black bruise marred the left side of his face.

Megatron's footfalls were slow, perfectly cadenced as he circled Soundwave again and again. "You were my right hand for years. You were the best soldier I had under my command." He paused, leaning over Soundwave from behind. "I _trusted_ you," he hissed. "And look what you have _become_…"

Soundwave wavered, pitching forward as his optics dimmed in exhaustion. His trip to the base had been rough, and his welcome back from Starscream and Skywarp brutal. Thundercracker had been separated from him, sent away by Starscream, but Soundwave could see similar bruises and mars across his plating. Still, all his thoughts were on Jazz. What had happened, back in the brig? Was Jazz alright? Was he even alive? Soundwave's spark clenched.

"What crossed through that processor of yours?" Megatron continued, circling Soundwave. "What delusion did you have?" He stared down into Soundwave's battered and bruised face. Megatron's raspy voice mocked him. "_Love_? Did you fall in love, Soundwave?"

Soundwave shuddered, a quick exhale bursting from his lips at Megatron's words. He rocked on his knees, energon dripping from his lips, staining the decking.

"No one turns against me!" Megatron suddenly bellowed, shoving his face into Soundwave's. "No one!" His rage exploded, and lubricants spat from his lips as he shouted. "I know about revolutions, Soundwave," he hissed, his hand folding into a fist. "I know how to drive change, to make the universe bend to _my_ will!" His voice was burning, raging. "A revolution begins with a _promise_! A pledge to the universe that you have a _better_ way." Megatron's fist clenched in Soundwave's face. "It is a promise that the world you will build is better for all! It is meant for mechs to follow! To flock to you!" Megatron reared back, sneering. "And all you do is _frag_."

Megatron resumed his circling of Soundwave, his heavy footfalls pounding into the dirt. "All you do is _frag_," he repeated. "What sort of promise is that!" he bellowed. "What sort of _revolution_ are you trying to create?"

Soundwave panted, his ragged breaths shaking past his bruised lips. "You're just another _Starscream_," Megatron hissed. "You'll never unseat me."

Megatron smirked as he checked the data stream pinging into his processor. "You have one chance to redeem yourself, Soundwave," he rasped. "Your lover is chasing after you. This is an opportunity, and one we will exploit." He smiled, raw and ragged smile as he bared his ugly denta.

Soundwave's exhausted optics blazed.

"Your lover will come to us to find you. We will take from him _everything_ we need to crush the Autobots," Megatron's fist clenched tight. "And you're going to help us."

Soundwave stuttered, static scratching from his vocalizer. This couldn't be happening. Jazz couldn't come for him. He had to warn him off, get rid of him some how. Jazz was walking into a trap, into certain death, torture, and horror. "No," he whispered, struggling to speak.

"You will assist us or you will be destroyed," Megatron rasped. Starscream and Skywarp entered the cavern, smirking behind Megatron at Soundwave. "If you refuse, you get to watch your lover suffer and die, slowly, and you will offline knowing his obliteration was all your fault."

* * *

Prowl tore after Jazz, racing past the _Ark's_ territory and far out into the forests and wilderness. Jazz sped forward, chasing after Soundwave and the Decepticons by some means Prowl wasn't aware of. All he could do was chase Jazz, hoping to catch up and bring him down, somehow. "Jazz!" he shouted, trailing just behind. He'd sped for over an hour trying to catch up as Jazz led them both through a maze of off-roading and wild dirt trails. "Jazz! Stop!" Jazz's engine was knocking, smoking on and off, and ugly sounds were coming from his engine and internals.

Behind Prowl, Sideswipe chased after the both of them, wincing with every trip to a new dirt trail. His undercarriage wasn't built for off-roading, and he was having a Pit of a time chasing after Prowl. He couldn't catch up and overtake Prowl, much less Jazz, and he was slowed down by the bumpy drive. Still, he pushed on. He wasn't going to let Prowl chase after Jazz and into the Decepticons alone.

Finally, Prowl managed to nudge up alongside Jazz, just enough to tease at his bumper. They drove on edge, pushing back and forth as Jazz tried to escape. Prowl swerved, trying to nudge Jazz off the road gently, and kept pace with his every attempt to pull away. He pleaded with Jazz to back off, to slow down, and to stop his wild chase.

Jazz finally had enough. Growling, he threw down his brakes hard, forcing Prowl to wildly drive off the trail and bury himself in the brush, narrowly avoiding a copse of trees. Jazz spun, finally falling out of his alt mode as he braced himself against the ground. Sideswipe, trailing just behind the two, caught sight of the near-crash and leapt out of his own alt mode just as Jazz jumped on Prowl's back and pulled him out of the brush. Wide optic'd, Sideswipe watched as Jazz threw Prowl to the ground, then jumped on top of him, pinning him.

"Why are you following me?" Jazz growled, wrestling Prowl down. His plating was overheated, burning where it touched Prowl's body. Smoke trailed from his side seams.

"I'm not letting you go, Jazz!" Prowl shouted back, trying to twist out of his hold. "You're making a mistake!"

"You don't know anything!" Jazz shouted back as Prowl shifted his hips and managed to throw Jazz from his body.

Jazz was tired and sloppy. He grunted as he hit the dirt, then rolled to a crouch before springing up and lunging at Prowl once more. "You can't stop me!"

"Why are you doing this, Jazz?" Prowl shouted, his control faltering. His voice wavered, his emotions finally breaking in front of Jazz. "Why are you chasing Soundwave?"

"Because I _love_ him!" Jazz bellowed back. He and Prowl circled each other, shouting. "I _love_ him! I love him, Prowl, and I'm _never_ going to give up on that!"

"Why?" Prowl cried. "Why _him_? _I_ love you, Jazz! Why are you running after _him_?"

Jazz didn't answer. He sneered at Prowl, his optics darkening behind his visor. "You can't stop me," he growled.

Sideswipe froze, panting, not sure what to do. He had no weapon, but he'd back Prowl up with his fists if he had to. He hesitated, watching the two officers bellow back and forth.

"Where are you going, Jazz?" Prowl shouted. "Where do you expect to find Soundwave? The Decepticons are gone! We can't even find all their bases!"

Jazz's visor gleamed. "There's a base near here, Prowl. We went there together." Prowl reared back, struck by Jazz's plain words. "I'm going to go there, and if I don't find him, I'll go the _Nemesis_. And If I don't find him there, I'll search the planet for him. And if I don't find him here, I'll go to Cybertron and search the whole world for him! I will _never_ give him up!" Jazz's gaze flicked past to Sideswipe, then back to Prowl. "I won't let you stop me."

Prowl's pain finally exploded in the face of Jazz's unwavering devotion and declarations of love for Soundwave. He lunged and tried to tackle Jazz without finesse. Jazz twisted and he wrestled Prowl down before pinning his arm behind his back. From his subspace, Jazz pulled out Prowl's rifle and charged it to fire in one movement.

Sideswipe moved with Prowl, following in Prowl's lunge. Jazz was waiting for him. Decoding Sideswipe's secret had laid bare all of Sideswipe's motivations, and more importantly, all the ways he could be twisted. Jazz hefted Prowl's pinned body in front of his own, twisting Prowl's arms behind his back, and pushed the barrel of his rifle against Prowl's temple. "Don't move, Sideswipe!" Jazz barked.

Sideswipe froze instantly, his optics going wide. He'd never, not once, imagined that this scene would play before him: Jazz, holding Prowl hostage, a rifle to his helm.

Prowl glared at Sideswipe, mouthing at him to attack Jazz.

Sideswipe stared up at Jazz, looking into his optics. He couldn't tell – and it terrified him that he couldn't – if Jazz would actually shoot Prowl or not. Nonetheless, he couldn't take that risk. He just couldn't. Sideswipe slowly raised his hands as he exhaled, staring back at Jazz.

"Get down on your knees and crawl next to Prowl," Jazz hissed. He twisted Prowl's arm once more, and Prowl grunted at the pull in his shoulder. It didn't hurt, not like his spark, but he couldn't break free.

Slowly, Sideswipe knelt and then crawled on his knees, his hands still in the air, toward Prowl and Jazz. Jazz motioned for him to stop, then turn around, his back to Jazz. In one motion, Jazz pushed Prowl down to his knees, next to Sideswipe.

Behind them both, Sideswipe could hear Prowl's rifle whining to full charge. He turned to Prowl, wondering if Jazz truly was going to shoot them in the back. Prowl was gasping, staring into the dirt, his optics white with static.

Jazz's hand grasped at the base of Sideswipe's helm, and with a jerk, Jazz pulled out Sideswipe's transmitting beacon. Sideswipe gasped, then fell forward, and Jazz moved to Prowl, doing the same. He tossed both beacons to the ground in front of Prowl and Sideswipe and fired between their shoulders, destroying the only means the _Ark_ had to track and find either of them.

Sideswipe's tank sank. "Are you going to shoot us, Jazz?" he asked quietly.

"Only if you try to stop me," Jazz growled, glaring at Prowl. Jazz turned away, getting ready to drop into his alt mode once more.

"Jazz," Prowl finally called out, pushing himself up. "You're injured. You're internals are dry. You can't keep going." Jazz froze, not moving. He glanced over his shoulder. "You need energon," Prowl said, pulling a cube from his subspace. Prime had given him one in his office to settle his tanks, but Prowl had sub-spaced it when the battle alert sounded. He held it out for Jazz.

Jazz hesitated. Prowl sighed, waving it. "Take it, Jazz," he said, his voice defeated. "If you're so determined to do this, don't go killing yourself in the beginning."

It took a moment, but Jazz finally walked back to Prowl. He watched, wary, for any sign of movement, but Prowl sat back on his haunches with his doorwings slumped low. Slowly, Jazz reached for the cube, and his fingers brushed over Prowl's. Prowl grimaced, then let go of the cube and sighed, staring down at the ground. Jazz pulled the cube to his mouth and began to drink greedily, swallowing it down in great gulps. Sideswipe watched Prowl carefully.

"Jazz," Prowl finally said, looking up. "You can't do this alone."

"I told you already, you can't stop me, Prowl."

Prowl shook his helm and swallowed. "You made that quite clear," he quipped. "But you _can't_ storm a Decepticon base all on your own. You're going to need help." He held Jazz's gaze.

Jazz searched Prowl's optics. Finally, he spoke again. "Why would you help me?" he whispered.

Sideswipe wondered the same thing, and he stared at Prowl open-mouthed.

"Because I love you as much as you say you love Soundwave," Prowl answered simply. His broken spark was screaming within the darkness of his soul.

Jazz looked away, clenching the cube in his hands. His lips pressed together before he turned back to the two mechs kneeling in the dirt. "I suppose this means you're coming too," Jazz grunted toward Sideswipe.

Prowl cast Sideswipe a dark sidelong glare, but Sideswipe simply nodded, once, back to Jazz. Prowl snorted, then shook his helm in disgust. He pushed himself to his feet with a heavy sigh. "Take a break, Jazz," he pleaded. "Ten minutes of rest. Drink the cube." He swallowed. "Then we'll get a plan together."

Slowly, Jazz nodded. He stared at Prowl for a long moment and shifted uneasy on his feet. Prowl walked away and gazed out into the forest. They had driven well into the coastal forests, and the wet haze mixed with the overflowing underbrush and towering redwoods to create an ethereal, otherworldly cavern all around. The rest of the world was cut off, and only the sounds of the forest filled the air. Wet dew clung to Prowl's armor as he sighed and stared into the distance.

Sideswipe watched him for a moment before padding over to his side. He glanced back at Jazz, but Jazz didn't seem to be moving from his perch against one of the redwoods. He didn't seem to be ready to flee, at least. Sideswipe stood next to Prowl, staring at his profile. "You alright?" Sideswipe whispered.

Prowl grunted, shaking his helm idly. He didn't look at Sideswipe.

"Why are you doing this?" Sideswipe asked, his voice still quiet. He glanced over Prowl's shoulder back to Jazz. "Why are you helping him?"

Prowl's expression twisted again, contorting. "Because I love him," Prowl choked out. "And even if he's running into certain death, I won't let him do that alone. I can't." Prowl shook his helm.

Sideswipe nodded. "I understand," he whispered. Prowl snorted, but Sideswipe didn't look away. He chewed on his lip, his processor racing. "Prowl…" He hesitated. "Why Jazz?"

Prowl stared at Sideswipe. "Why did you fall for Jazz, I mean," Sideswipe pressed. He looked down, licking his lips, then back to Prowl. "Why was it him?"

Prowl's optics narrowed. He didn't answer right away. Prowl stared out into the forest as his jaw clenched and unclenched, his neck cables straining. "It was the perfect match," Prowl finally grunted. "I've always liked spunk and warmth. And... fun."

"You like fun?" Sideswipe quipped, his humor trying to peek out, to tease a smile from Prowl.

Prowl wasn't budging. He frowned harder. "Believe it or not, I am more than the mech I show to misbehaving soldiers," he growled.

Sideswipe grimaced internally. He chewed on his lip again. "But there are other mechs, Prowl," he said quietly. "Other mechs who are warm, and fun, and smart." Sideswipe shifted on his feet. "Why Jazz?"

Prowl sighed. "Back on Cybertron, the war was too intense, and there was no time for any dalliances. After the crash…" Prowl's voice trailed off, and he shook his helm. "What do you care?" he spat. "Trying to gloat over how I can't keep someone amazing like Jazz?" Prowl's cold optics shot sideways, glaring at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe's mouth dropped open, gaping. "No!" he gasped, taken aback. "Prowl, I would never!" He swallowed.

"Why are you here, Sideswipe?" Prowl finally asked, glaring across at the red twin. "Why are you always sticking your nose where you don't belong? You aren't welcome everywhere, you know," Prowl snapped, his burning emotions finally unleashing themselves against an easy target. "Just because _you_ want to be somewhere doesn't mean you are wanted in return." His optics flashed as he turned his glare toward Sideswipe full force.

Sideswipe's spark sank. He inhaled shakily, then tried for his small smile. "Where else would I be, Prowl?" Sideswipe whispered, shrugging.

"Out of my business," Prowl growled. He was on a role now. "You're always interfering. You're _always_ there, commenting or smirking or making a mess of everything. Why can't you just leave me the slag alone?"

Sideswipe swallowed, but refused to let his breaking spark show. "Prowl," he whispered. "You can't let Jazz do this alone because of how you feel." Sideswipe realized his hands were shaking, and he tried to squeeze them into fists, clasped before his body. "What makes you think it's not the same for me?"

Prowl's helm whipped around and he glared at Sideswipe. "Do you really think that this is the time to tell me you have a crush on Jazz?" he spat through clenched denta.

Sideswipe's optics blazed. "No, no," he said, shaking his helm. He swallowed, teetering on the edge, uncertain if he could tip over the side. "It's not Jazz!"

"Just stay away from me," Prowl grunted, pushing away from Sideswipe. He turned, stalking back toward Jazz, who was ready to push on in his quest for Soundwave.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe cried and lunged after him. Prowl shook his hand off his elbow without looking back. "It's you," Sideswipe finally cried. "Primus, Prowl, it's you!" He froze, baring his spark and waiting for Prowl's reaction.

Prowl came up short, his optics blazing. He turned, wild, and pierced Sideswipe back with furious optics.

"It's you…" Sideswipe whispered, holding out his shaking hands. "It's always been _you_." Behind Prowl, Sideswipe could see Jazz watching the two of them.

Prowl took in Sideswipe's pleading expression, his wide-flung hands. His processor screamed, suddenly playing over every word, every smile, every single interaction they'd ever had. The moment in the medbay, Sideswipe's blitzed happiness reaching out to him. His smiles, always searching for Prowl in a crowded room. Chasing after him, chasing after Jazz… Prowl groaned. "You've got to be kidding me," he growled.

Sideswipe winced and shook his helm. "Prowl, I…" he trailed off, unable to finish. Prowl's optics were raging, and his voice died in the face of Prowl's fury. This wasn't how he'd ever planned on telling Prowl how he felt. Sideswipe exhaled, shaking, and stared down at the ground. "I understand how you feel," he said instead. Sideswipe well understood how it felt to love a mech who loved another.

"Time to go," Jazz called. He dropped to his alt mode and gunned his engine. He was leaving, and whether Prowl joined him or not, he was still pressing on.

Prowl stared at Sideswipe for a long moment, then turned and dropped into his alt mode. Jazz pulled out, setting a fast, near-punishing pace over the dirt trail, and Prowl followed. Sideswipe stared after them both, then dropped to his alt mode as well. It hurt, following at their pace and speed as he jostled over the rocky trail in his low slung undercarriage, but he wouldn't ever leave Prowl. Not even when he was tossed aside. His spark swelled with the burning pain of his spurned revelation. He'd always known that he never had a chance with Prowl. He'd fallen for him nearly the moment he'd laid optics on what was then his division's XO, and had endured Sunstreaker's merciless brotherly teasing for years. A miracle happenstance brought him to Prowl's special division on the _Ark_, and then their crash and time in stasis. Through it all, Sideswipe's feelings had never waned, and instead had grown as he came to know Prowl more and more. He dated other mechs, but Prowl had a special place within his spark.

He knew, he _knew_, he never had a chance. Still, when Prowl and Jazz solidified their relationship, Sideswipe had felt a small part of himself mourn the loss of his fantasies. When Prowl had been single and had been a shameless workaholic, Sideswipe had nurtured detailed and intense fantasies of rescuing him from his workload, or distracting him late at night, or meeting Prowl for a punishment detail that ended oh so wonderfully different. He had lived a rich and delicious fantasy life in his processor, but after Prowl devoted himself to Jazz, it had seemed wrong to pursue Prowl in his helm. His fantasies died along with his microscopically slim chances, but what hurt most of all was the loss of his hope.

Part of his fantasies had always been the perfect revelation to Prowl of his feelings. He'd lain awake at night for long hours, imagining Prowl coming to him after a dangerous mission, or seeing him in the medbay, or watching him during a punishment detail before diverting Sideswipe's punishment to more pleasurable pursuits.

This had never, ever been the way he wanted to tell Prowl. Not on the run after Soundwave, Jazz's lover, with a dangerously furious Prowl on the hairy edge of a full-blown processor snap. Not with Prowl's wild optics burning wrath into Sideswipe's plating.

Sideswipe followed after Prowl and Jazz, struggling to keep up with their pace.

He never wanted it to be like this.

* * *

Red Alert popped up on the medberth, moving from his completely offline status to sitting up and alert in the space of an astrosecond. "Red Alert to Prime!" he shouted, trying to activate his comm unit. He slapped at his helm, reaching for the terminal that used to be behind him, when he had been attacked, and toppled right out of the medberth. He went tumbling, sprawling skidplate over helm, to the deck.

"Easy there!" Ratchet called out, helping pull Red Alert to his unsteady feet. "You're fine, Red." He held on to Red Alert's waist as he guided the security officer back to the medberth.

Red Alert stared at Ratchet suspiciously for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. "We were attacked," he grunted. "I couldn't get through to Wheeljack, and then they came through the hull over the brig. There was a communications block. I couldn't call for help."

"We know, Red," Ratchet grunted, shifting Red Alert back onto the medberth. "The Decepticons took Soundwave. The attack was a ruse." As soon as Starscream had cleared the _Ark_, Megatron pulled back, and the Autobots returned to the _Ark_ to find the destruction Starscream and the Constructicons had wreaked. Instantly, Prime had dispatched a search team for Jazz, Prowl, and Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was nearly beside himself with furious pacing, and the rest of the crew huddled in the Rec Room with their weapons ready to go, ready for the call to rescue their comrades.

"Is Wheeljack alright?" Red Alert asked.

Ratchet nodded, motioning to the other medberth. "He's going to be fine."

Red Alert nodded once, then grunted. "Should have seen that coming." He shook his helm. "What's the plan?"

"Prowl, Jazz, and Sideswipe are missing. We don't know if they were taken or if they gave chase." Red Alert's optics blazed. "We're trying to figure out where they might be now."

Red Alert tried to push himself out of the medberth again. "I have to go help," he said, trying to stand. "I'll be on the Command Deck!"

"No, no, no." Ratchet pushed him back down. "You're staying right here. Prime and Ironhide are searching for the others."

"But I can help!"

"You need to rest. Your processor took some damage." Ratchet pushed down on Red Alert holding him to the berth. One of his hands fumbled for a syringe on the side table, out of Red Alert's sight.

"No, I need to be helping! It's my fault that the _Ark_ was breached!" Red Alert continued to struggle, but Ratchet finally grabbed the syringe and stabbed Red Alert in his lines, pumping him with a dose of sedatives. Red Alert fell offline with a grunt and collapsed to the berth.

From the other medberth, Wheeljack chuckled. "You're not going to stab me, are you, Ratch'?"

"Not if you stay put." Ratchet pushed Red Alert back onto the berth surface and left him in his collapsed heap.

"Is it still a mess out there?" Wheeljack asked. Ratchet nodded, grimacing. Wheeljack sighed. "Then I'll stay put."

* * *

Jazz swerved as his comm flashed to life, and he pulled off the trail quickly. Prowl followed, crouching low as he transformed, and a few moments later, Sideswipe followed, hunkering down next to Prowl. Prowl refused to look at Sideswipe.

"What is it, Jazz?" Prowl asked.

Jazz frowned, trying to decipher the message. It was garbled, full of static, and his processor scrambled to clean it up. "I'm getting a message," he said softly. His optics blazed. "It's from Soundwave," he breathed. "He's alive."

To Prowl's credit, he didn't visibly react. He looked away, and his expression didn't betray the crushing pain he felt at Jazz's excited exclamation.

Jazz frowned, listening. _"Jazz,"_ Soundwave began, his voice cracking and raspy from damage. _"Do not pursue. Do not return. Associations must be terminated."_ Soundwave gasped, trying to capture enough breath for his ragged internals. _"Jazz's survival: at risk. Jazz's existence: will not be jeopardized."_ Soundwave coughed, another rasp pushed through the static of his vocalizer. _"Do not pursue. Do not return. Associations: terminated."_

"I can't respond!" Jazz hissed. "He's cut off his beacon!" He growled, glaring out into the forest.

"What is it?" Prowl choked out.

"He transmitted a short wave message, telling me to not pursue him," Jazz growled. He snorted. "I can't get a fix on his position and I can't comm him back." Jazz's engine rumbled.

Prowl frowned, his processor pouring over Jazz's words. He peered out into the dewy haze, the fog of the coastal forest clinging to every overgrown fern and to the height of the redwood trunks stretching upward. All was silent, save for their engines ticking and the sounds of their vents intermingling. "A short wave? Then he's close by?"

"The base is near here," Jazz grunted. "I don't have the exact coordinates, and I don't know their operational layout." Jazz frowned. "It was empty when we were there."

Prowl swallowed again, his processor unhelpfully supplying him with a multitude of images, a parade of visualizations of Soundwave and Jazz using an empty Decepticon base for their lovemaking, all while he and Jazz were supposed to be together. When had that happened? When had Jazz and Soundwave been together at the base? Had he made love to Jazz on the same day? His spark burned anew, his fury lashing out, but he refused to let it out of his tightly clenched grasp.

"If he's near here, then that means the rest of the Decepticons are, too," Sideswipe whispered. Prowl glared sidelong at Sideswipe and said nothing.

Jazz pulled Prowl's rifle from his subspace and charged it to fire. "Let's move in on foot," he grunted. He moved forward and Prowl followed, moving off to his right. Sideswipe stayed with Prowl, shadowing his every move despite Prowl's bitter glare. With only one rifle between the three of them, Sideswipe wasn't letting Prowl out of his sight.

They'd only moved a half mile before Jazz motioned for them to crouch low. Prowl ducked, Sideswipe following, and watched as Jazz peered into the wet, grey fog. "I think I hear something," Jazz whispered. Prowl strained his audials, and next to him, Sideswipe leaned close, trying to hear as well. Sideswipe's hand landed on Prowl's shoulder for balance. Prowl shook him off.

All at once, the forest was filled with light and sound, and the roaring of Seeker turbines filled the air as the red-orange glow of their thrusters burned away the fog. Hulking shadows burst out from the haze ahead, dark forms moving through the redwood trunks. Cackling sounded overhead, and the unmistakable shriek of Starscream's scratchy voice boomed all around. "Well, well, well," he hissed. "How predictable! You've come to save your love!" Starscream and Skywarp descended through the fog, hovering above Jazz and cutting him off from Prowl and Sideswipe. Prowl tensed, though Sideswipe held him back. "I knew Soundwave wouldn't let us down," Starscream purred. "He _promised_ to deliver you right to Megatron."

Jazz growled and hoisted his rifle to fire. Skywarp beat him and shot the rifle from Jazz's hands. It flew through the air before clattering to the ground in the brush, well out of reach.

"Don't kill him, Skywarp," Starscream droned lazily. "Megatron wants him alive." Starscream sneered down at Jazz as the Stunticons closed in, ready to take Jazz down physically. Jazz crouched, ready to fight, but the match was an uneven one. Still, he wasn't going to go easily.

Prowl's doorwings tensed behind his back, brushing against Sideswipe's armor. He watched the Stunticons close in on Jazz, his engine surging. "Prowl, don't!" Sideswipe hissed. The rest of the Decepticons hadn't seen them yet, and there was still a chance they could follow them in to the base.

Motormaster charged and tackled Jazz, pinning him to the ground before he began pummeling him savagely. The rest of the Stunticons joined in, holding Jazz down as their leader unleashed, and the sounds of metal impacting metal, the sick crunch and wet pounding of burst energon was too much for Prowl. He was already on the hairy edge, and his logical processes had completely left his processor, overpowered by the too-strong emotions bursting from his spark. Prowl leapt from his hidden crouch, attacking the Stunticons and trying in vain to save Jazz.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe lunged after him, refusing to leave his side. Starscream and Skywarp whirled toward the commotion, their optics flashing. Prowl raced forward, his doorwings flared wide, an avenging, raging mech with nothing but destruction on his processor. Skywarp raised his arms, and Sideswipe threw himself into the line of fire.

Laser shots rang out, streaking through the haze before slicing into Sideswipe's body. The first shot slammed into his shoulder, the next grazing his sideseams. Finally, Skywarp's last shot burst against Sideswipe's helm, next to his temple, and Sideswipe fell to the ground, offline.

Starscream snarled behind Skywarp and fired on Prowl. Prowl fell next to Sideswipe, his helm bouncing off the wet dirt.

Jazz, still pinned beneath Motormaster, twisted toward Prowl's offline body. "Prowl!" he shouted, before Motormaster slammed his fist into his helm again.

"That's enough!" Starscream snapped to Motormaster. "Don't kill him!"

"Why not?" Motormaster snapped. "We've got their SIC!"

Starscream's optics gleamed as he stared at Prowl and Sideswipe's fallen bodies. "Megatron has plans for the Autobot lover," he snapped. "As for Prowl…" Starscream sneered as Skywarp's optics glowed, taking in Sideswipe's offline body. "_I_ have plans for _him._" Soundwave's fall from grace, his slip and fall into the arms of an Autobot lover, would end up being the best capture and interrogation of Autobot officers the Decepticons had ever received. And it was all Starscream's for the taking.

"Scoop up those piles of scrap and bring them back to base!" Starscream snapped. His lips curled up in a dark sneer as he turned to Skywarp. "You can always count on Autobot stupidity," he smirked.

The Stunticons roughly grabbed hold of Prowl and Sideswipe, and Motormaster cleanly knocked Jazz offline. The Decepticons piled together and headed back to their dark base cut into the mountainside, two thirds of the Autobot command team in their possession.

* * *

Hound picked up the charred remnants of a destroyed comms beacon from beneath a pile of wet leaves just off a disturbed trail several miles outside of the _Ark's_ territory. He peered at it, and Mirage and Bumblebee shared a quick look, shaking their helms. How Hound had found that speck of metal in the wild span of the forest, they would never know.

"I found something," Hound called.

Ironhide and Prime raced to his side. Sunstreaker, holding position as a guard, glanced back to the tracker, a deep scowl burned onto his face.

Ironhide frowned at the tiny piece of metal in Hound's palm. "What is that?"

"Part of our comms beacon," Hound said, frowning. He turned to Prime. "We're on the right track, sir."

Prime nodded, but his optics were dark and turbulent. "This is not a good sign. We've got to hurry."

Hound nodded and palmed the scrap of metal, then peered along the forest floor. His optics scanned the terrain, picking up the tracks and tread patterns of the mechs he knew, trying to pull their trail from the damp, dark earth. "This way," he called, setting out through the forest. The trail was hours old, but still, they were too far behind. He only hoped that they weren't too late.


	13. Chapter 13

**Fracture Mechanics 13**

* * *

_This is the bottom_, Soundwave thought. _This is the absolute bottom. I can fall no furthe_r. Energon pooled on the ground beneath his cracked and fractured helm, staining the dirt floor of their stateside cavernous hideout. It used to be an old, abandoned mine before Megatron had turned it to his purposes.

Dust clung to Soundwave's lip, captured in the energon leaking from the tears in his plating. Ragged cuts crisscrossed his face, and his blast mask was ripped clean off. Megatron's fury had been great, and his beating savage. _At least Jazz is safe_, Soundwave thought as his optics flickered, then dimmed. _As long as Jazz is safe, I can die in peace._ He could feel his engine slowing, the pulse of his energon fading. _Let it go_, he whispered. _Let it all go. You tasted true freedom once. Let that be your end._

"I have good news for you, Soundwave." Megatron's cold, crimson optics burned across the dank cavern, cutting and fierce. His lips curled up, sneering, and his gaze forced Soundwave to absolute stillness. An icy chill danced down his back. That cutting tone, that sheen of victory. The mocking congratulations. _No…_

Panting and still dizzy, Soundwave forced himself to raise his helm, staring back at Megatron. Cold panic curled around the base of his tanks. "Neg-negative…" he forced out, his vocalizer shaking. Energon dripped from his torn lip, slick and hot.

Instantly, Megatron's optics narrowed to slits, dark and dangerous. "You and your feelings!" he spat, lubricants flying. "How could you have fallen into such disgrace, Soundwave? How could you have come so low? If it was release you needed, that could have been arranged." Megatron growled as his fist clenched tight. "There are slaves on Cybertron for your uses! This is unacceptable." His vocalizer dragged over every syllable, cold and harsh.

"This is war!" Megatron bellowed suddenly, his ragged voice filling the entire cavern. Soundwave shrank at the force behind his words, dropping his badly-beaten helm down as his optics dimmed in pain. "The Autobots are not us! They are not mechs! They are not Cybertronians! They're a blight, a pestilence, a virus that must be purged from the glory of our race." Megatron's optics burned as he turned and faced Soundwave. Slow, clipped footfalls echoed as he cross the dank space and loomed over Soundwave's crumpled form. "You're supposed to exterminate them. Eliminate them. Terminate them." Without warning, Megatron's arm lashed out, and he caught Soundwave across the cheek with a harsh backhand. "Not frag them! Not love them!"

He spat the word out as if it were poison, the vilest virus he'd ever known. It was a mockery, a foul shade of weakness, and Megatron would have none of it. "How weak you've become," Megatron sneered.

He peered down at Soundwave. Unbelievably, he extended his hand. "Would you… rejoin us?" Megatron's words were lilting, suddenly, full of promise, but cut with raw darkness.

Soundwave stared, trembling, and with wide, near-white optics. Static crackled through his crimson gaze and tumbled through his vocalizer. "Query…"

His lips still curled upward, Megatron continued, his vocalizer smooth and cool. "We have the Autobots, Soundwave. Jazz and Prowl. The Autobot commanders. And one of their warriors. Starscream is preparing interrogations now. The intelligence that we will gain…" Megatron smiled, an ugly, feral thing. "We can credit this all to you. Your little … plan, all along." Megatron's hand stretched out once more. "Forget your rebellion. Forget your revolution. Forget your fantasies of lust and Cybertron." His hand held steady just before Soundwave's beaten, bruised face. "Join me once more."

Soundwave shuddered, inhaling a ragged vent. _Jazz…_ Megatron had Jazz. Primus, but he'd tried to warn him away. Why had Jazz let himself be captured? He was supposed to save himself, get away. Not this. _I tried to save you…_

A stray thought stilled Soundwave's processor. _Prowl._ The darkness within Soundwave roared, demanding vengeance and justice, demanding energon and victory. _Jazz's lover. _He could destroy him, offline him, be rid of him forever. Prowl would never again take Jazz from him, never again be a concern, never a competition. Soundwave's spark burned. How deeply, how powerfully he hated how Prowl also knew the taste of Jazz's kiss and had shared Jazz's berth. The darkness within Soundwave begged for destruction, for Prowl's permanent offlining, and his slow, painful death. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to end his existence. He wanted to feel Prowl's vents shudder and see his optics offline, and feel the last gasps of his dying breaths beneath his own two hands. Jazz could be his, all his.

_No!_ his spark cried out, weak. Rejoining the Decepticons would be the end of Jazz, one way or another. Rejoining Megatron would destroy Jazz, whether he was offlined physically or even if Soundwave somehow managed to beg for his existence, to keep him as chattel, a drone, or a slave. All that was Jazz, all that was free and pure and good would be gone. Soundwave would die to keep that alive, and just before, he'd been ready to let go of life, certain Jazz was safe and free.

No, there was no going back, not at all. His fate, and his future, was already sealed.

With a snarl, Soundwave lunged, using the last of his energy and the last bit of strength he could summon, throwing himself at Megatron. He tackled his leader and tried to force his hands around Megatron's neck. His hold was slippery, though, and he was far too weak.

Easily, Megatron bested him, backhanding him before flipping him over. Roaring, Megatron leapt to his feet and hurled him away. Soundwave lay, slumping against the cavern's wall, crumpled and damaged. Gasping a ragged ventilation, Soundwave tried to push himself up once again, but his arms were shaking, trembling, and he couldn't summon the power. _Jazz…_

"How dare you!" Megatron bellowed, kicking at Soundwave's middle. Grunting, Soundwave collapsed, his vents knocked off cycle. Megatron refused to let up, and his foot slammed into Soundwave's back, and then his side, each impact echoing with a sickening, slick crunch of collapsed metal and wet energon. "You sicken me, Soundwave," Megatron hissed.

Soundwave's optics flickered and dimmed as his vents panted unevenly against the dirt ground, and dust caked over his split lip and face. He had to try. If he could summon just once more ounce of strength, one more joule of power, he could keep trying to fight back. He could keep working to save Jazz. Just one more ounce. Soundwave gasped, trying to push himself up.

"Fool," Megatron spat viciously. "I would like to see you obliterated at the end of my fusion canon! But… I think there is a better way to extend your pain and your agony." His raspy voice darkened with malice and a personal pain Megatron would never admit to feeling. "You can perish with the rest of your Autobot friends."

Soundwave's processor swam, his optics fritzing, but he still tried to struggle against his body's fall into stasis lock. He refused to give in, refused to give up, and thoughts of Jazz filled his processor, streaming through his mind far too quickly. Jazz's smile, his laugh, his voice. The warmth of his body, pressed against his. It was too much, his processor was firing too wildly, and Soundwave groaned at the sensations. He tried to stand, tried to pull himself shakily to his feet as his hands grasped in the dirt for any kind of purchase, but his strength was too far gone. Trembling, he collapsed, offline. _Jazz…_

Megatron sneered at the heap of beaten and mangled metal that used to be his most trusted officer.

At the dark entrance to the nearest mine shaft, short, clipped footfalls echoed into the cavern, steadily growing louder. Megatron turned and caught sight of two red optics, glowing bright.

"I never liked him," Starscream sneered. "And I've never trusted him."

"A pity he decided to take after your most prominent and useless personality traits." Megatron stalked toward Starscream. "Is the holding cell finished?"

"Of course it is. My prisoners are too valuable to let anything slip by."

Pausing at Starscream's side, Megatron fixed his second in command with a deep, penetrating stare, full of promises of darkness and pain. "Put him in with the Autobots. Let him share their fate." His optics narrowed. "The next mech who betrays my will will be dealt with abruptly." In the silence, his fusion cannon whined softly, echoing.

Starscream bowed his helm, sneering. "As you command, mighty Megatron."

* * *

Sideswipe onlined to a world of pain and utter, impenetrable darkness.

Gasping, he tried to reach for his arm, the source of the most agonizing pain. He rolled to his side, collapsing around himself, and then froze. His hand met with… nothing. Shakily, his fingers ghosted over his shoulder joint. Torn metal, frayed wires, and burned circuitry met his hesitant touch. Pain flashed throughout his body, burning all the way from his torn-off arm down to his feet.

"Aaaah!" Sideswipe breathed, hissing. He shifted, shivering, and tried to cycle his optics to online. They hadn't booted up properly and he couldn't see anything.

The darkness, however, remained. Sideswipe tried to online his optics again. There was no start up sequence, no power surge, and no indication at all that any of his optical systems were functioning in any way. His one remaining hand trembled as it slowly rose, reaching for his face. Hesitantly, his fingers stretched out, brushing over his nose and dragging across his filthy cheek to his optics. He slowed, pausing.

Shattered glass and broken circuits met his fingers, cold and offline. He was blind.

Sideswipe stifled his small cry, choking back the pain, and ran his hand delicately over the rest of his helm. Burn marks and scorches mixed with dents across his entire left side. "Slag," he whispered. He shivered again. He couldn't keep his core heat up and his engine was running slow. He must have lost a lot of energon.

_Prowl!_ His processor instantly cried out. Where was Prowl? They'd been attacked together, chasing after Jazz, and if Sideswipe was this bad off, how bad was Prowl? Frantically, Sideswipe started trying to search for him, but he fumbled around in the darkness, scrabbling on his knees and off-balanced from his torn-off arm. His one remaining hand skittered around the ground, dust and dirt trailing beneath his fingertips. "Prowl?" he whispered. "Prowl, where are you?"

Finally, his hand bumped hard against metal. He scooted closer, his one hand feeling over the form as much as he could, trying to figure out who or what he'd hit. A long, smooth, thigh, dented hips, strong midsection, the swell of a curved backplate… and, finally, his hand met the edge of a crushed doorwing. Prowl was lying on his back, dumped there by Decepticons uncaring of doorwings and damages, and, as far as Sideswipe could tell, wasn't moving. His hand roamed over Prowl's chest, feeling for his spark and his engine. There wasn't much warmth, and he couldn't feel any surges or streams of power. "Prowl, no…" Sideswipe whispered, frantic. He couldn't see, and he couldn't tell if Prowl had already begun to grey or if he was still breathing or what his injuries might be. What if he was bleeding out on his other side? What if there was a pool of energon Sideswipe couldn't see?

Frantically, Sideswipe started running his hand over as much of Prowl's body as he could reach, trying to feel every part. He was still trembling though, underpowered and unbalanced, and he stumbled forward, falling onto Prowl's body.

Splayed out across Prowl's chest, Sideswipe could finally feel the faint pulses of warmth and the low hum of Prowl's engine. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Prowl was still online, thank Primus. He shifted his helm, pressing down against Prowl's chest. Sideswipe's free hand drifted up Prowl's side, then came to rest over his spark chamber.

The heavy whine of Prowl's engine was Sideswipe's only warning of Prowl's onlining. Prowl gasped a ragged inhale through his vents as his engine surged. Sideswipe tried to back away, but he wasn't functioning at full power, and all he managed to do was fall on top of Prowl, again, as Prowl – panicking and reacting instantaneously – onlined in a blind rage. Everything raced back as his optics flashed white-bright – Soundwave's escape, Jazz's flight, their fight in the forest, Jazz pointing his weapon at him. Continuing on. Finding the Decepticons. Jazz captured. Being shot.

Nowhere in his memories was Sideswipe.

Prowl's hands grabbed at Sideswipe's helm roughly, then jerked him away, throwing him aside. Sideswipe cried out, agony in his vocalizer, as he landed on his shorn-off shoulder. "Prowl!"

Panting, Prowl pushed himself up to a low crouch, his doorwings creaking behind him as they forced themselves online. His helm swung around, taking in their dark surroundings. Prowl's optics were functioning fine, but the dank hole the Decepticons had thrown them in was pitch black. Only the faint light of Prowl's optics cast any illumination at all. He could barely see the cold steel door, blocking the entrance of what used to be a hollowed out gunpowder room within the mine, and sealing them within.

Sideswipe whimpered, gripping at his shoulder as he tried to roll himself over. Waves of searing agony were rocking through his body. "Prowl," he tried again. His vocalizer was shaking. "Are you damaged?"

"Sideswipe?" Prowl's helm whipped toward the red twin. He could barely make out the shape of Sideswipe's hunched body. "We're you… on top of me?" His voice turned vicious, biting.

"I was trying to see if you were online," Sideswipe began, panting through the pain. "Are you alright?"

Prowl's rage intensified, seeking any outlet. He was trapped, within and without, and there was nowhere to go but down, deep down into his primal, hateful rage. He snarled at Sideswipe. "I don't know or care what sort of perverted delusions you've been stewing in that processor of yours, Sideswipe," he hissed. "But don't expect me to just roll over and take it from you!" His vocalizer grew ragged as he spat out his words. "Don't try to feel me up or put a move on me when I'm offline! I'm not interested!"

Stunned into stillness, into shocked silence, Sideswipe barely breathed. He gasped a tiny exhale, too frozen to react to the venom and bile and viciousness of Prowl's wrath. "Prowl," he whispered. His engine whined, trying for more power, and his trembles began anew. This time, he knew it wasn't all from energon depletion. "Prowl, I was trying to see if you were online." His vocalizer shook, deepening with unshed pain.

"Why don't you just take a look, then!" Prowl bellowed. "There's no need to fragging put your hands on me!"

"I can't _see_, Prowl," Sideswipe's voice had dropped again, anger and disbelief and pain rolling into one massive spike that jammed into his spark. "I can't see."

"Turn on your optics!"

"I don't have any optics!" Sideswipe finally shouted. He gasped, the pain from his shoulder flaring at his outburst. He fell forward, ducking down on his knees until his helm nearly hit the dirt. Dust scattered every which way from his breathy, shaking exhale. "They're broken, Prowl," he hissed. "I'm blind."

Silence met his words. Sideswipe pulled himself up, trying to stare back at where he thought Prowl was. His helm turned, searching, trying to pick up on any sound at all. Prowl seemed to have dropped offline entirely and had gone eerily silent. "Prowl?" he whispered.

"Don't move." Prowl's voice was closer now, but still cold, and Sideswipe jumped, startled. He wilted, his helm falling forward, but Prowl's hand grasped at his chin and forced him back upright.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your injuries," Prowl said. His tone was still cutting. Sideswipe felt his helm being turned from right to left. Finally, he heard Prowl's soft exhale. "Frag."

"That bad, huh?" Sideswipe's face burned where Prowl's fingertips gripped his plating. He swallowed, trying to imagine Prowl's face and where it was. "What's going to happen now, Prowl?" He barely breathed his words, whispering them faintly in the darkness.

Abruptly, Prowl let go of his chin and stood. The movement unbalanced Sideswipe and he nearly toppled over sideways. Instinctively, Sideswipe looked up, but whether he was looking in the right area or not for Prowl, he hadn't a clue. Footsteps padded away from Sideswipe and he strained to hear as Prowl paused on the other side of their small, dank cave.

Prowl stared down at the two offline forms wound around each other, feeling the core of his spark burning. Soundwave, badly beaten, his features nearly unrecognizable, and Jazz, burned and bruised, their arms entwined, helms tucked close, and bodies pressed flush against one another. Despite their injuries, both mechs were alive, merely offline. Prowl's gaze hardened to Soundwave, and his fingers clenched reflexively. The destruction wrought against the blue Decepticon was deliciously pleasing, utterly so, to Prowl. If only he could have inflicted some of the damage himself. Vengeful wrath, pure, dark, and cold, blossomed from within his spark, spilling out and taking hold of everything. There would be a price extracted for this, for all of this. One of metal and of energon. He could taste it.

His optics shifted to Jazz, wrapped up in Soundwave's arms and holding him in turn. Primus, but how many times had Prowl held Jazz just like that? It had all been a ruse, a fantasy, a meaningless waste of time. Jazz had been lying to him and leaving him, loving another. Loving Soundwave. Loving a Decepticon. The thought turned his tanks, burned his lines, and ravaged his spark. The desolate wasteland that had once been his love for Jazz was now a primal scream of fury. It demanded absolution. It lusted for vengeance.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe's soft voice broke through his frenzied haze. "Where did you go?" The red twin's whispers were soft, shaking, and filled with a timidity he'd have never before believed either twin of possessing.

"Just sit down, Sideswipe." Prowl growled. He turned and stalked away from Jazz and Soundwave, returning to his side of the cramped cave. He pointedly didn't sit near Sideswipe. "Try to shut down. It will be easier if you can just offline or go into recharge."

"I don't think that will really help," Sideswipe said. He started moving, scooting toward where he thought Prowl was. "I can't recharge when I'm in this much pain. I guess if I could, it would help with the pain, but it's just too hard to initiate-"

Prowl cut him off. "I wasn't talking about pain management," he spat.

"What were you talking about?" Sideswipe's question was confused, innocent.

"Just _shut up_, Sideswipe!" Prowl finally shouted, growling through gritted denta. "Just shut up and offline! We're going to die here and it will be easier for you if you're already in recharge! So just sit in that corner and power down!"

Sideswipe couldn't find the words to respond to Prowl's wrath. His spark clenched, seizing in on itself as it boiled over, boiled down, ran around and through and within itself until it had wound into a coil of knots. Short gasps were all he could manage in his shock. "What?"

"We're going to die, Sideswipe," Prowl growled. "Jazz, in his perfect wisdom, ripped out all our communications transmitter beacons. The _Ark_ has no idea where we are and has no means to track us. We don't know where we are, and with you not functioning, Soundwave and Jazz damaged and aligned with the –" his throat clenched and his gears ground momentarily "- Decepticons, we have no chance of fighting our way out of here. Megatron, or Starscream, is going to come and kill us, Sideswipe, probably after some flagitious round of torture or interrogation." Prowl's engine roared as he exhaled. "And this is exactly how I wanted to go." His helm thunked back against the cave wall. "Chasing after the love of my life, who's wrapped around a Decepticon and has been fragging him behind my back. Locked in a Decepticon cave, forced to look at them holding each other." Prowl's helm whipped to Sideswipe, glaring at the motionless red twin. "And here with you, as you try to get into my plating." He spat his words out viciously. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to hurt as badly as he was seething. It wasn't right, but he didn't care about that any longer. His entire world had shrunk, his whole focus narrowed on the barest, most primitive of emotions. He felt just as the turbohawk did, the moment before its beak cut into its prey. Sharp vision, cutting claws, and the anticipation of the hot flow energon, delicious and tantalizing in its pain. "I have news for you, Sideswipe: I'm not interested!"

Silently, Sideswipe's spark shuttered, collapsing in on itself like a silent black hole, dying a quiet, soul-collapsing death. His processor swam, Prowl's words echoing on repeat. The pain in his shoulder was eclipsed, suddenly, by the ravages of his broken spark creating a tidal wave of agony that passed through every one of his emotions.

"Poor you, Prowl," Sideswipe whispered. His vocalizer was trembling, shaking, trying to push out the angry words that could barely escape his crushing pain. "Poor, _poor_ you. This isn't how I wanted to die, either." His vocalizer choked on the word. "Do you think this is what I want? To die blind and defeated? Alone? And!" Sideswipe's vocalizer cracked. "It's all my fault!" He laughed, an empty, hollow laugh. "It's all my fragging fault. I'm chasing after the love of _my_ life, who's chasing after the love of _his_ life. Who's chasing me?" Static filled his vocalizer. "No one."

"Don't expect me to join your pity party, Sideswipe!" Prowl shouted. "I have never given you any indication that I wanted your attention, and I have no intention of letting you frag me in some desperate 'last gasp of life' jaunt!"

"Frag you, Prowl!" Sideswipe hollered, finally breaking. "Frag you! Just _shut up_! You don't know what you're talking about!" He hissed, inhaling, and grabbed at his shoulder as a new wave of agony rolled through him. "I never wanted to frag _you_, you slagging idiot! I wanted _you_ to frag _me_!" Sideswipe panted, his vents heaving, and froze after he admitted his deepest, most painful secret.

Silence met his hoarse shout. Ironically, Sideswipe had always wondered what Prowl's face would look like if he ever told him. Fate, it seemed, always robbed him of his desires. "Surprise, surprise, Prowl." His vocalizer was harsh now, hoarse and pained. "Sideswipe wants to be a bottom." His voice was mocking, echoing all the insults and derisions he'd been thrown as a younger mech. "How can that be? 'Big, strong Sideswipe, of course he's a mech!'" Sideswipe chuckled dryly. "Sure, I can play it. I can be Sunstreaker's brother, the tough frontliner, berth-hopping my way through the army. I learned how to play my role, pounding it out. But…" Sideswipe's voice trailed off, static-filled. "All I've ever wanted, all I ever fantasized over, all I ever hoped for, was a lover who was … kind... and gentle." Sideswipe's vocalizer was shaking now, trembling. "And knew what I wanted." Speaking was difficult again, and Sideswipe was glad he couldn't see Prowl. He never wanted to see Prowl again, not after this. "You know, watching you with Jazz was like torture for me. I could see you, see how perfect and wonderful you were. You took care of him, you loved him, and you were just so you. Everything I'd ever dreamed of." He swallowed roughly. "Primus, but you sure fooled me. I _love_ you, Prowl, and all I've ever wanted to do was to summon the courage to say that to you. I love you, and for the first time, I have no idea why."

Again, resounding silence, deep and impenetrable, meet Sideswipe's words. He couldn't see, couldn't make out a single detail, audial or otherwise, that would have told him anything about Prowl's reaction. Or if he was even listening. Or even online. He could have turned off his audials to ignore Sideswipe, or forced recharge on himself to escape. Sideswipe hadn't a clue, and he wouldn't have put it past him anymore. Again, it seemed the fates had a cruel prank in store for him. He'd found that courage, summoned that strength to admit to Prowl his feelings, and he was blind to Prowl's reaction. No dreams of Prowl's happy smile, tender optics, or knowing grin were here now. Only the blackness, and the chill, and the painful agony of his admission.

Sighing, Sideswipe tipped over and rolled in on himself, curling up against the cave wall. He shivered again as his core temperature continued to drop. Prowl was right about one thing – he was going to die, either from a broken spark or from energon loss. Whichever took him first. He didn't much care either way any longer. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and beg and plead on his knees. He wanted to shake Prowl until the Prowl he knew reappeared. He wanted to help him, try to figure out how to fix the calamity of broken pieces that their world had collapsed into. He wanted Prowl to love him, even half, even a quarter as much as he loved Prowl.

But, it wasn't to be. It wasn't ever going to be. Instead, he curled against the wall tighter. He knew lying there wasn't going to solve anything, and surrendering to the darkness wasn't going to help. But he was so tired, and so cold, and there was nothing but pain any longer. If he offlined, if he just pushed himself offline, maybe he could dream again about being warm, and of happier times, and maybe, just maybe he'd dream about Prowl again. Maybe he could feel his arms around him in his dream world, one last time. It might almost be nice.

He couldn't even summon the energy or power to cry as he slipped into the blackness.

* * *

Jazz onlined hazily, his processor swimming in a sea of noise and echoing, incomprehensible shouting. His optics were dim behind his visor, and he couldn't see anything other than the mangled face of Soundwave pressed up against his own. Jazz had barely been online when the Decepticons had thrown him into the dark, jury-rigged holding cell. Dizziness had taken over, mixed in with dropping power levels and fading in and out of consciousness. Prowl and Sideswipe, both shot, had been solidly offline and thrown against the far wall. There wasn't anything Jazz could do for either of them. He couldn't even drag himself to their sides.

But, when the cell door opened and the beaten, energon-covered, and mangled body of Soundwave had been dragged inside, Jazz's systems surged, pain and fear and relief all spiking in tandem. Soundwave was there, but he was injured, badly, and they were captured. But he was there. Jazz had dragged himself to Soundwave's side to inspect his damages, and, with trembling fingers, painted little lines of touch and apology over every mar, bruise, and cut of energon. What had they gotten themselves into, and where had it led?

As Jazz's gentle hands traveled over Soundwave's face and his broken blast mask, Soundwave's optics had flickered, faintly pulsing online. "Jazz…"

"I'm here, Soundwave." Jazz barely breathed his words, instead dropping down to lie next to his body, pressing his face close. "I'm here."

"Should not have come."

"I am not leaving you."

"Wanted you to be safe."

Jazz stroked his hand over the side of Soundwave's helm, smiling sadly. "When has what we're doing ever been safe?" Soundwave's optics flickered at his words, and he exhaled softly, shaking. Jazz tucked their helms together, forehelm to forehelm. "Get some rest, love. I'm here. I'll watch over you."

Slowly, Soundwave's optics faded offline as he pressed the length of his body against Jazz's. Jazz twined their hands together and brought them up to his lips, then dropped tiny kisses to every digit. He tucked the other around Soundwave's body before powering down his own optics and surrendering to the pull of his processor.

Hours later, he was awoken by the shouting, but it was fading in and out, fuzzy, static-filled, and warbling in his audials. The static rose, a crescendo in a high-pitched wail, leading to a sudden scream, and he winced back, gasping. The silence that followed seemed to swallow the dank cell.

From the darkness, a shuffling emerged, the sound of a mech rising. Jazz tried to turn his helm, but he didn't want to disturb Soundwave. "Prowl?" His whisper was a shout in the silence.

Piercing blue optics shown over his shoulder. "Are you alright, Jazz?" Prowl's voice was flat and his gaze cold. Jazz twisted, slowly extricating himself from his clutch around Soundwave's body, though he kept his hand twined with his lover's.

Jazz sighed, staring up at Prowl. The brilliant, fractal light from Prowl's optics mixed with the dull, faded glow of his own visor, and he could see the dirt, scuffs, and dents all over Prowl's body. One large burn covered his shoulder and chest, and his doorwings were mangled and crushed. Still, he soldiered on, refusing to give in, and determination lined his strong body.

Prowl's face, however, was a different story. Hardened and etched from cold steel, every tired, worn line of exhaustion, anger, and defeat stretched across his tight expression. It was face of a mech who was two steps from breaking and holding everything together through sheer force of will and bare wrath alone. Jazz swallowed. "Recovering slowly." His voice was raspy, underpowered. His systems were doing as much as they could through his internal repairs, but his power was low, and most of it was focused elsewhere. "Soundwave is damaged."

At the mention of Soundwave's name, Prowl's optics brightened, hardening until every fractal line and pattern of their cold depths was streaking outward. His gaze barely flickered over Soundwave's body before sliding back to Jazz. His optics lingered, however, over their clasped hands. "How bad?" Prowl forced out.

"We need to get him back to the _Ark_. He needs repairs."

The preposterousness of the statement struck Prowl on several levels, but he vocalized none of them. His optics narrowed, drifting over Jazz's handhold with Soundwave once more.

"Are you damaged? And how is Sideswipe?" Jazz finally asked. He shifted, sliding closer to Soundwave.

Prowl forced himself not to react, averting his gaze. He stared over Jazz's body and let his optics dim. "I'm functioning," he grunted. "Sideswipe is -" His vocalizer shorted, fading into static. "Sideswipe is hurt."

"Badly?"

This time, Prowl couldn't speak. His gears clenched in his throat, and he nodded, jerking his helm up and down.

"You shouldn't have come," Jazz whispered. He frowned up at Prowl. "You shouldn't have gotten involved. This was my mission for Soundwave." Jazz's tired visor blearily wavered up at Prowl, and Prowl stared back, incredulous. His lips flattened into a hard, thin line.

"I couldn't let you go alone," Prowl grunted.

Jazz's optics darkened as he shook his helm, silently berating Prowl and his unending love.

Sideswipe's voice suddenly filled Prowl's helm. _"Where else would I be, Prowl? I couldn't let you go alone… I'm chasing after the love of my life… chasing after the love of his life."_

Primus, but he was an all-fragged idiot. Prowl turned away. He couldn't look at Jazz any longer. He couldn't let Jazz see how his optics were fracturing into white storms, threatening to break apart. He couldn't let Jazz see how he was dying, destroying himself from the inside out, and only one thing was keeping him going, only one thing at all.

Let Jazz keep his tortured peace. Prowl's functioned on rage alone.

* * *

Ironically, this time, Prowl wasn't the doorwinger that Sideswipe was dreaming about.

Instead, he dreamed about Smokescreen, his former lover and partner. He'd slipped offline nearly as soon as he'd curled up, halfway forced into it through his body's need to repair itself and half as an escape from the crushing pain coursing through his body. Memories played in his processor in an endless loop, reminding him of his eternal folly.

Smokescreen and he had been friends ever since they'd teamed up back on Cybertron and had been fighting in the same battalion. Jocular, hysterical, and as dedicated to fighting as Sideswipe, the two had instantly become close. It wasn't until after they'd crashed on Earth that they had decided to take their friendship into the berth. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were happy then, interfacing at every moment, on every surface, at every hour of the day that they could squeeze it into. Everyone on the _Ark_ knew those two were fragging, and nearly everyone could hear them when they were. They were hot, passionate, and full of burning optic gazes and teasing touches. Smokescreen and Sideswipe had had buckets of laughs at their expense… until one night they'd kissed, and that kiss led them to Smokescreen's berth.

It had been pretty good for Sideswipe, who was used to never very good at all. He liked Smokescreen, he truly did, and as their friendship turned into a relationship, he began to make love to Smokescreen the way he had always imagined someone would make love to him. Smokescreen, for his part, was in the Matrix: regular, fantastic interfacing from a robust and vigorous partner who also happened to be his best friend.

Sideswipe, naturally, began to fall for Smokescreen. Frontliners he and his brother may be, but they still wore their sparks on their plating, and only learned bravado and sharp practice had taught them to keep it subdued. Still, he fell for mechs with the same speed that his brother did, and as Sunstreaker began slipping into sliding into love with Bluestreak, Sideswipe began to fall for Smokescreen. Along with falling for him, Sideswipe began to fantasize.

He'd known for as long as he could remember that he had different tastes. His size, as he grew, and his body structure seemed to place him solidly within the group of mechs that preferred to top. He was the odd ball out, and it was always painfully thrown in his face every time a mech flirted with him, wanted him, or desired him. They desired him for a role he didn't want to play.

But, he'd learned how. He'd learned how to be the spike mech, how to be the dashing, strong and big lover they'd fantasized about. Sunstreaker knew his secret – how could he not? – and had tried to help him early on. It hadn't gone well, and ultimately, it had been too sensitive, too revealing for Sideswipe to bare his desires to anyone. Ridicule, scorn, and disbelief were the reactions, every time, and already felt vulnerable enough as it was without everyone else's criticism. He finally let himself fall into a role created, a spike mech of charm and a prodigious lover. He was everything everyone wanted him to be. He let his own dreams die.

With Smokescreen, however, a tiny tendril of hope bloomed. He was closer to Smokescreen than any of his other previous lovers. Smokescreen was his best friend and they told each other everything. Perhaps, he could trust him with this.

It was late, and they'd just finished another drenching, panting, perfect round of interfacing, burning overloads crashing through their systems and aftershocks lighting up their grids. Smokescreen was curled up against Sideswipe's side, his fingers playing over his chest, and Sideswipe's arm was wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight. Lassitude curled through Sideswipe's tanks, and he finally found the courage to speak.

"Hey," he whispered, grabbing at Smokescreen's hand. He brought it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Hey yourself, sexy," Smokescreen purred.

Chuckling, Sideswipe rolled onto his side toward Smokescreen. "I was thinking…"

"That's dangerous, especially for you."

Smiling, he pressed on. "I was thinking 'bout something the other day. What do you say we switch things up a bit?" Sideswipe hoped his expression didn't look too eager.

"Switch things up a bit?"

"You know… let you be on top." Sideswipe's optics slid away, focusing on their joined hands.

Smokescreen snorted. "Like that will happen!" He chuckled and tried to roll over, ready for recharge.

"I'm serious!" Sideswipe tugged on Smokescreen's hand . "How many times are you going to get an offer like this? From a mech like me? Someone strong and brave and dashing?" He tried to sound light, but his spark was pounding.

Laughing, Smokescreen rolled back to Sideswipe. "Well, I don't know, Sides, I don't think much about any other lovers than you at the moment."

Sideswipe made a face. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." Smokescreen stretched for a kiss, then pulled back with dim optics. "I think our interfacing is just fine the way it is. I certainly have no complaints." He grinned at Sideswipe. "Do you?" he asked carefully, a moment later.

"I'm not complaining either." Sideswipe tried to smile, but he felt his hopes slipping away. "But, I just thought it'd be fun, you know? Role play?"

Sighing, Smokescreen onlined his optics fully. "Sideswipe, I'm just not that interested in topping. We can role play, if you want. I can be the sexy, secretive spy Decepticon, and you can capture me." He waggled his optic ridges at Sideswipe. "But, I'm just not that interested in changing us."

Later, Sideswipe would guess that his disappointment must have shown on his face. He sighed. "Alright. I just thought it'd be fun." After a moment, he forced a playful smile to his face and turned his nose up. "You won't be getting any of this handsome mech's special parts, then!" He onlined one optic, glancing sidelong at Smokescreen. "Last chance?"

Smokescreen smiled and shook his helm. There was an odd look to his optics, one Sideswipe couldn't place.

"Forget I said anything," he said quickly. "Let's just recharge." He gathered Smokescreen up into his arms and pulled him close, holding him tight. Primus, but he loved having someone to hold and for someone to hold him. He really was falling for Smokescreen, and even if he couldn't be the mech he wanted to be, being Smokescreen's lover wasn't a terrible second place. Not at all.

Sometime in the middle of that night, Sideswipe onlined to find Smokescreen sitting up and staring down at him, a contemplative expression on his face. His optics were underpowered, casting a soft blue glow around his quarters.

"Hey," Sideswipe said sleepily, reaching for Smokescreen. "Why are you online?"

"Just thinking," Smokescreen answered. His doorwings flickered when Sideswipe started rubbing his thigh.

"That's dangerous, you know." Sideswipe scooted closer, kissing at Smokescreen's knee.

"I do know." Smokescreen reached out and cupped Sideswipe's cheek, simply staring down at him for a long moment. Finally, he bent forward and kissed him sweetly on the lips in a lingering, chaste kiss.

Sideswipe's spark skipped, then melted. "Wow," Sideswipe whispered, smiling. "What was that for?"

"I think I'm going to take you up on your offer," Smokescreen whispered back. He leaned forward, pushing Sideswipe down onto the berth and on his back. His hand trailed down Sideswipe's side, then gripped at his hip. He smiled at Sideswipe's confused expression. "Lie back, Sides."

Confusion turned to wonder in an instant, then to blitzed happiness. Sideswipe grinned wide as he scampered back, lying down, and he reached for Smokescreen, drawing him into his arms. Smokescreen had laid on top of Sideswipe before, cuddling and kissing, but never before with this intent. His thigh hadn't pressed against Sideswipe's panel in quite that way before, and that look had never been in his optics. Sideswipe moaned as his helm fell back, and his hands trailed up Smokescreen's sides. Smokescreen smiled, briefly, and leaned down for a kiss.

Languid kisses turned to petting, and Sideswipe's lust surged as Smokescreen kept undulating against his body, pressing his thigh against his plating.

"You're going to have to help me," Smokescreen whispered in between kisses. "This isn't usual for me."

Sideswipe used to be that way, until he forced himself to react to his spike stimulation. He grinned around their kiss. "No problem," he whispered. Sideswipe was loving every minute of it, and his hands were roaming all over Smokescreen's hips, his aft, and his thighs.

Smokescreen leaned down for a deep, passionate kiss. Sideswipe's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his helm closer, and he spread his legs around Smokescreen. Smokescreen stopped, staring down at Sideswipe, as Sideswipe trembled beneath him, his optics offline and helm thrown back, his mouth open in a silent gasp of pure pleasure.

Smokescreen could barely hold his charge, and Sideswipe could barely hold back his overload.

It was over far too quickly. Smokescreen wasn't experienced enough to make it last, and Sideswipe couldn't have known any difference. They fumbled together, riding the waves of their blind rutting, and Sideswipe overloaded quickly, shaking and shouting and trembling as more passion burned through his body than any of their previous lovemaking, ever.

Smokescreen collapsed, panting, and Sideswipe clung to the waves of his overload until he drifted into recharge. _Now I know I'm in love,_ he'd thought. _This could work. This could really work._

Three days later, and they'd yet to discuss what had happened. In fact, they'd yet to share a single word. Smokescreen had left sometime in the night, and since then, they hadn't seen each other once. Sideswipe had been bouncing and cheerful, so much so he disgusted his brother the morning after, but as the day wore on and Smokescreen was nowhere to be seen, his burst of new love felt slightly slighted.

After three days, he was downright worried.

And he had every right to be.

"Sideswipe." Smokescreen finally came to talk to him late in the night. "I don't think we can make this work."

All of Sideswipe's hope collapsed. "What?"

"I didn't know, Sideswipe. I didn't know what you wanted. I -" Smokescreen shook his helm, looking away. "Why didn't you say something?"

"What are you talking about? There's nothing to say. There's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with us." Sideswipe's words came too quickly, fumbling over each other.

Sighing, Smokescreen shook his helm. "Sideswipe, I'm not what you want."

"Yes, you are!" Sideswipe tried to reach for Smokescreen.

"No, I'm not." Smokescreen pushed Sideswipe's hand away gently. "I'm not, and I can't be what you want, either, Sideswipe." His optics were sad as he met Sideswipe's gaze.

"We're fine! We're completely fine, Smokescreen! Nothing's different!"

"Sides." Smokescreen shook his helm. "If we stay together, I will be thinking about what you want and how I can't give that to you. I can't be that mech for you, Sideswipe."

"But…" Sideswipe's thoughts were crashing against one another. "You did, the other night."

Smokescreen smiled and shook his helm. "You loved it, Sideswipe. I…" He trailed off.

"That's not the only way I like… things, Smokescreen. What we have is fine!"

"I'm not going to take this from you, Sideswipe. I can't be the mech for you that you want and that you need. I can't."

Sideswipe couldn't find the words to say as Smokescreen stood and silently left his quarters. Once again, as soon as he revealed who he was, truly, his partner ran, fleeing.

There wasn't anyone out there who truly wanted him.

* * *

"Take this and deliver it to him." Starscream smirked as he passed the cube of energon to Skywarp. Thundercracker looked away as he leaned back against the dirt wall. His wing scraped over the rocks jutting outward, and he flinched. His wounds hadn't yet healed, and his face was still cracked and bruised from Megatron's beating.

Skywarp, cube in hand, left Starscream's cobbled-together interrogation room. A generator sat in the corner, a rickety chair in the center. Thundercracker frowned.

"Upset about your little friends?" Starscream's raspy voice grated over Thundercracker's audials. "Worried about Soundwave?" He grinned. "Or… Jazz?" Starscream slid closer to Thundercracker, sneering. "Did you share him, perhaps?"

Thundercracker stared back at Starscream, not deigning to answer. Slowly, he pushed himself off the dirt wall, and stalked out of the interrogation room. Prowl would be in there soon, and Jazz. He tanks churned at the thought.

Thundercracker stalked up the mineshaft's tunnel, glowering at everything and nothing. It was dark, and only the crimson glow from his optics lit his path. Eventually, he caught up with the sound of Skywarp's heavy footfalls, and he slowed, following behind Skywarp silently as his trinemate delivered the cube to the Autobots' – and Soundwave's – hastily-built cell. It was nothing more than a cave hole, an old miners room with a steel plate door track soldered over the entrance, but it kept their wounded prisoners captive. Thundercracker had been viciously instructed not to go near.

* * *

"Here, Prowl." Skywarp grunted as the energon cube slid across the uneven dirt floor of the cell. Energon sloshed over the rim, then pooled into flickering balls of liquid, trembling with potential energy. "You're needed alive for your interrogation."

Prowl stared back at Skywarp, his optics burning. Should he rush the Seeker, try to escape? He was still underpowered, and with no weapons and no means of escape, what would he do? And, how would he help the others? Jazz wouldn't leave without Soundwave, and Sideswipe was-

Prowl's thought drew up short at Sideswipe's name. His processor froze, seizing, and he swallowed, gears grinding, as Skywarp smirked and slid the cell door shut, one arm raised as he pretended to fire his laser ray. "Pow," he mouthed, pretend firing at Prowl's helm just before he shut the door.

He stared at the cube for a long moment, not moving. The energon swirled within, tantalizing and fresh. He could smell it. It was even warm. He was surprised they'd given them a cube, but he wasn't about to chase a circuit down its path. Prowl's helm turned to Jazz, wrapped up in Soundwave's embrace and offline, still. He could wake him up again, give him the cube, try to get his strength up so they could fight their way out there. His engine surged faintly, a tiny whine in the darkness. They could escape, the two of them, leave this all behind.

A flash of red caught his optic. He stared at Sideswipe's crumpled form, turned against the wall and softly moaning. Sighing, Prowl reached for the cube.

Sideswipe shifted as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The pain flowed in waves, ebbing and cresting and pulling him from his dazed offline state, and his energon loss had dropped his core temperature to where he was shivering constantly. He couldn't keep his engine or his body warm. Sideswipe hissed as the pain hit him full force, cresting as he came online. He whimpered.

"Easy, Sideswipe." Prowl's gruff voice spoke softly behind the red twin's helm. Sideswipe started, trying to turn.

Prowl reached out and steadied Sideswipe, carefully laying his hand on Sideswipe's damaged shoulder as he guided him up to sit.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe's voice was strained, and he struggled to turn his helm, trying to find where Prowl was.

"Easy," Prowl grunted again. His voice was strained too, his gears clenching. He sat down behind Sideswipe as best he could, stiff as he tried to steady Sideswipe. Sideswipe was still twisting his helm at the noises, trying to figure out what was going on. Prowl sighed as he settled, pulling himself against the dirt wall, and gently tugged on Sideswipe's shoulder to turn toward him. "Come here," he whispered.

Sideswipe stiffened against Prowl's guiding hands. "What are you doing?"

"I have a cube here," Prowl said, his voice low. He swallowed, staring into Sideswipe's broken, dirty face. Even with his optics shattered, his young face showed so much expression. It hurt, to look at him, and Prowl's fiercely-coiled darkness yearned to lash out once more. His gears clenched again. "You need it more than anyone else," he grunted. "Let me give it to you." Again, he tried to guide Sideswipe to sit with him.

Sideswipe's face contorted, twisting in confusion. He tried to resist Prowl's gentle pull, but after a moment his struggle gave out and he let Prowl pull him back against his chest. Sideswipe settled in between Prowl's legs, curled up with his broken shoulder and missing arm tucked against Prowl's chest and his helm resting just under his neck. Prowl rubbed his hand up Sideswipe's arm, then lifted the cube to his lips. "Here," he whispered. "Drink."

Sideswipe opened his mouth carefully, just enough to let Prowl pour the energon. Sideswipe jerked, backing away as he swallowed, and Prowl pulled back the cube instantly.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe's voice was shaky, his lips tinged with energon, and he tilted his helm to try and find Prowl's face with his sightless optics. "Why are you doing this?" Prowl sighed and swallowed, and didn't answer. "Prowl?" Sideswipe's voice was shakier now, slight edges of static creeping in.

"Drink, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered. He held the cube as Sideswipe drank another sip, then held him steady as Sideswipe collapsed against his plating, panting.

"I thought you said we were going to die?" Sideswipe pressed his helm against Prowl's neck, shivering still.

Gears clenching, Prowl's hand stroked up and down Sideswipe's arm. His optics stared across the cave, watching Jazz and Soundwave through the darkness. "No one deserves to die cold and alone, Sideswipe," he whispered. He turned his gaze back down to Sideswipe. "Especially not you."

Sideswipe's trembles increased, but this time for an entirely different reason. He clenched his cables, gritting his denta, and tried as hard as he could to not let loose his sob. "Prowl," he whispered, static-filled. "I'm so sorry. I never-"

"I thought I knew you," Prowl interrupted. "And then you ..." He sighed heavily, his entire body seeming to fall apart at the seams. "Quiet, Sideswipe. Everything in the world is fragged up. You don't need to add yourself to that."

"I just wanted to help." Sideswipe barely breathed the words, ghosting them over Prowl's chest as he pressed his helm against Prowl's neck. Prowl's warmth seeped into Sideswipe's plating, and Prowl's scent filled his nose. He whimpered, wanting more, and felt the suddenly-stabbing pain of knowing that this was the end.

"Just get some rest," Prowl grunted. He could barely speak now himself. What an all-slagged life he led. What an all-fragged mess. He'd run his race, fought his battles, did his time, and all for what? Nothing but a ball of rage, a tempest of fury, a lover who scorned him, and a broken-sparked mech with sad, shattered optics. He felt helpless, and the thought was nearly overwhelming, threatening to destroy him. It was only a maelstrom of wrath, rage and shame that kept him going now, each occupying the forefront of his spark in turn. Rage at the Decepticons, at Soundwave, at Jazz, and at Sideswipe, even. Shame at what he refused to believe, and what he couldn't accept, even now. Wrath for himself. Wrath for the world. He was dead now, dead in his soul, and there was no escaping that. He lived for one purpose, one, singular purpose. Let nothing stand in his path.

_This is the end_, he thought. _I can fall no farther._

It was then that Sideswipe lost the battle against his emotions, and he hiccupped, unable to hold his sob in any longer. Turning his helm, he pressed his face against Prowl's warm neck and buried his broken body in Prowl's rough embrace. Static tried to escape his vocalizer and his tightly-clenched lips as he trembled.

Prowl's helm thunked backward against the cave wall as his hand stroked up and down Sideswipe's remaining arm. He felt nothing.

* * *

Starscream sneered as his timer beeped. "It should be time," he snapped. "Let's go retrieve him."

Skywarp smirked and took off, heading back to the cell. He'd spent the interim cracking his knuckle joints and smirking, waiting for the inevitable. The time had finally arrived.

* * *

Sideswipe shivered again, pressing his face against Prowl's neck. He couldn't get warm, and he was beginning to worry about his loss of energon. Even with the cube, he still couldn't warm up, couldn't keep his engine firing, and everything was blurring into one mass of pain. Even his missing arm hurt, which was imminently confusing. It was missing.

Finally, one stab of pain made him cringe, this time, worse than before. He shuddered, gasping, and curled down in on himself. "Prowl…"

Prowl stared down at Sideswipe's crumpled body. He frowned as Sideswipe groaned again, then curled up into a ball of trembling agony. "Prowl!" Sideswipe shouted through clenched denta as his spark burst into a fiery plume of deep, impenetrable anguish. "Prowl!" He fell forward, tearing himself out of Prowl's arms as his body began to seize.

Prowl scrabbled to Sideswipe's side, trying to unclench Sideswipe from his tortured, seizing clenching. His hands fluttered over Sideswipe's sides helplessly. "Sideswipe!" he shouted. "Frag!"

The commotion finally aroused Soundwave and Jazz. Jazz's optics onlined sharply behind his visor, and he struggled to pull himself up. "What's happening?" Jazz called out, his voice raspy and underpowered. Behind him, Soundwave's optics began to flicker.

Prowl's optics caught on the energon cube, pushed aside and out of the way, just as Sideswipe began to scream. Raw, horrible shouts ripped from his vocalizer, and his seizing increased, wracking his body full force.

"Frag!" Prowl grabbed at the cube, pulling it to his face. He couldn't see anything, couldn't smell anything, but they must have done something to the energon. Frag, why hadn't he thought of that? He was such a fragging idiot, an all-fragged idiot. Sideswipe continued to scream, and Prowl whirled around, glaring at Soundwave. "What is this?" he hollered. "What the frag did they do to this?"

Soundwave, barely online, blearily stared back at Prowl with dim optics. He said nothing.

Prowl grunted, hurling the cube at Soundwave in blind rage. He turned back to Sideswipe. "Sideswipe!" he grabbed at his shoulders, trying to do anything to help. Sideswipe's shrieks were increasing, his engine was knocking, and there wasn't anything he could do.

Suddenly, the cell door opened, revealing Starscream and Skywarp on the other side, laser rays primed and ready to fire. Skywarp's optics gleamed as he listened to the shrieks, and an unholy smirk turned up the corners of his mouth.

Starscream, however, had a different reaction. "You gave it to the wrong mech!" He whirled on Skywarp, his own rage tearing at his face. "It was supposed to be Prowl!"

On the cave floor, Sideswipe shrieked again, his back arching upward. Prowl turned fierce, feral, and he jumped to his feet, snarling at Starscream. "What have you done?" His broken doorwings tried to swing to battle readiness, screeching. "What did you do to the cube?"

Starscream's sneer darkened. "You shared your cube, Prowl. How perfectly Autobot of you. I only hope that that traitor and his lover got some as well!" Starscream's gaze flashed to Soundwave, hot and intense.

"What did you do?" Prowl roared. Sideswipe shrieked again, and Prowl, torn, dropped down to his side. His hands tried to grab at Sideswipe's plating.

"P-p-prowl?" Sideswipe panted. He grunted, trembling, and tried to hold in his next shriek. "Prowl!"

"His internals are fusing together. It was supposed to be for you!" Starscream glared at Skywarp again. "It makes interrogations go so much smoother." This time, his sneer was directed straight at Prowl. "But don't worry. I'll still be able to break you, Prowl." He paused, holding Prowl's optics across the dark cave. They burned together, searing. "Get him," Starscream finally sneered, his vocalizer dripping with malice.

Skywarp grinned and moved forward, aiming his rays at Prowl's knee joints. Prowl snarled, lunging in front of Sideswipe and bodily shielding him from the Seekers. He tried to rush Skywarp, trying to push his arm up, but he was still damaged, still weak, and no match for a full-powered, battle-charged Seeker. Skywarp easily blocked his blind attack, then spun Prowl around and bashed him across the back of his helm. Prowl stumbled, falling to his knees, and Skywarp kicked at his doorwings. Prowl hissed, falling forward.

Across the cave, Jazz pushed himself to his feet, stumbling. Starscream turned his null ray on Soundwave, zeroing in his sights directly on Soundwave's spark. "Please," Starscream whispered, just so Jazz could hear. "_Please_, make a move." Jazz froze.

Skywarp jumped to Prowl, stranding over him, and pressed his ray into the back of Prowl's neck. Next to them, Sideswipe grunted, another seizure tearing through his body. "Prowl?" Sideswipe gasped. His hand stretched out blindly, reaching for Prowl's touch. "Help me!"

"I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer," Skywarp grunted at Sideswipe. He grinned. "And don't worry, we'll make sure Prowl joins you soon enough… in the Pit!"

Prowl grunted as Skywarp twisted his arms behind his back, forcing him roughly to his feet. "Sideswipe!" Prowl shouted. "Just hang on! It will be alright! It will be all right!"

Sideswipe, however, was having none of that. "Prowl!" This time, his shouts were ones of anger and of rage, and he struggled to roll to his side, trying to push himself up. Another seizure tore through his body, but he gritted his denta and fought through the burning of his body, locking up and seizing within, unfolding in anguish. "Prowl, no!" He pushed with shaking hands, trembling arms, and tried to stand.

"Sideswipe!" Prowl shouted as Skywarp shoved him roughly from the cell. He stumbled, still half-powered and uncoordinated, and Skywarp took great pleasure in slamming him against the cave wall. Prowl's helm bounced against the rock, hard. "Stay still! Don't move!"

"Won't let them take you…" Sideswipe grunted. "Prowl!" He fought his way through the next round of burning seizures.

"How pathetic," Starscream sneered. He stared hard at Soundwave and Jazz, still silent, still not moving, and smirked. "At least I know there's still some Decepticon in you."

"Get him to the interrogation room," Starscream snapped. He turned and stalked out as Skywarp shoved Prowl through the door and slammed him against the cave wall again, pressing against him roughly. Prowl's helm bounced off the rock wall again, shorting his optics, and he groaned.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe's shriek mixed with the next round of burning pain, and he collapsed, unable to hold himself up any longer. He fell to the ground, seizing, his body trembling and quaking, grunting for any air he could.

His shout blasted through Prowl's shaken processor, and as Skywarp shoved Prowl helplessly down the winding cavern tunnel, he couldn't shake the echo. "Sideswipe…" His optics flickered, then darkened, and he pitched forward, nearly crashing to the rocky floor, offline.

* * *

"Bluestreak, come on!" Smokescreen waved toward Bluestreak, trying to break his unusual pall.

Slowly, Bluestreak turned his helm, as if it were unattached to his body, and stared at Smokescreen. He seemed to be looking through Smokescreen, past him, beyond him, staring at nothing and everything in the far off distance.

"Are you okay?" Smokescreen frowned, staring at Bluestreak.

Bluestreak's gaze slowly focused, zeroing in from nothing to everything, and his optics locked onto Sunstreaker, leading the squad as he followed Hound and Prime through the forest. They'd been trying to track Prowl, Jazz, and Sideswipe's trail for hours. He didn't know if they were any closer or further away.

"Are you okay?" Smokescreen repeated. He reached for Bluestreak's arm.

Bluestreak shook off his reach before he'd had a chance to touch his plating. He pushed past Smokescreen wordlessly and headed toward Sunstreaker. He fell in beside the golden twin silently.

Sunstreaker stared sidelong at Bluestreak. They hadn't spoken since he'd thrown Bluestreak out, and aside from a few rude comments during their first search for Jazz outside the _Ark_, Bluestreak had acted as if Sunstreaker didn't exist. Now, he was right next to Sunstreaker, hovering, even, and his optics were staring out across the forest as if they were looking at something else entirely. Sunstreaker had never seen that cold, hard look on Bluestreak's face before.

Still, he said nothing as he moved off, following Hound and Prime as they continued on. Hound was pointing, gesturing wildly, and he was well and ready to be through with this chase. He needed to find his brother.

Bluestreak followed behind Sunstreaker, shadowing his every move.

* * *

Prowl didn't come back to his surroundings until Starscream already had him slumped in the chair and Skywarp was shoving heavy bolts through the palms of his hands, securing him to the chair's rickety frame. Grunting through his scream, Prowl pitched forward, and his hand reflexively tried to jerk away from the burning pain blazing through his hand and up his arm. Skywarp grinned at Prowl's struggles and pushed him back.

"Hold his helm back," Starscream said, his voice cold. He gripped a small generator in the palm of his hand and fingered a wireless transponder in the other. "I need his access port."

As Skywarp grabbed Prowl's helm, restraining him backward, Starscream moved to Prowl and plugged the transponder into Prowl's access port. Prowl grunted, trying to struggle, but between Skywarp's hold and his own hands bolted down, he couldn't put up much of a fight. He was still out of it, still damaged, and he was sure there was some part of his processor that had cracked.

All at once, pain, burning agony, more than he had ever felt before, tore through his body. It eclipsed everything, the burning in his hands, the crushing pressures of his spark, the dizziness in his helm, everything. It exploded, electrical currents galloping and tearing through his systems, burning everything within him. He gasped, going rigid, and bucked against his restraints.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Starscream purred. He turned up the electrical power, sparking more current through Prowl's systems. "This is what you will feel until you tell us what we want to know."

* * *

Inside their cave cell, Jazz stared at Sideswipe's seizing body. He swallowed, then turned to Soundwave, his optics bright. "What happened?" he asked. "What did they do?"

Soundwave shook his helm, pushing himself to his unsteady feet. "The cube: poisoned. Corrupted. Starscream's process for interrogations."

"Frag!" Jazz kicked at the cube Prowl had hurled toward them both. He turned back toward Sideswipe and slowly moved to his side. He winced as he stared down at Sideswipe's broken body and shattered face, and at the contortions of pain wreaking his expression. "What is it doing to him?"

"Corrupted energon: choking his internal systems. His engine: stalling." As Soundwave spoke, Jazz dropped to his knees beside Sideswipe, and he tried helplessly to still his frantic seizing.

"Is there anything we can do?" Jazz's visor burned back toward Soundwave.

Soundwave grunted as he pushed himself forward, moving shakily to Jazz's side.

* * *

Prowl screamed, the raw, guttural sound torn from his vocalizer in ragged tears as the electrical current burned higher and higher in his body. He was flailing, trying to escape, and only working the bolts in his hands deeper into his plating. Energon streamed from his palms, slick and hot.

All at once, the current stopped, and only the sounds of Prowl's gasps, his pained panting, filled the silence of the room. Starscream's clipped footfalls slowly started, circling Prowl in the darkness. A crimson glow pulsed, betraying his stalking movements. It was the only light, save for Skywarp's own crimson pair of excited optics, watching everything from the corner with too much lust.

"Physical pain is something special, isn't it, Prowl?" Starscream hissed. "So raw, so potent. You can feel things you never thought you could before. Go to limits you never thought you had." His footfalls continued to echo, slow and even. "But how much more exquisite is it to feel when your spark is breaking?" Starscream paused behind Prowl. His heels scraped over the ground, scratchy and thick. "How does it feel, Prowl, to know your partner…" Starscream smirked, "was actually a Decepticon?"

Prowl jerked, bucking against his restraints. "That's not true," he grunted.

"Are you…" Starscream keyed up the electrical current, "sure?"

He tried not to scream, tried not to give the Seekers the satisfaction of his pain, but it was flaring too wildly, cresting too quickly, and his shout burst from his ragged throat, raw and bitter.

In the corner, Skywarp's optics gleamed, pulsing bright, through the darkness.

* * *

Soundwave slumped down next to Jazz and Sideswipe. Sideswipe's seizures had stopped, turning to tremors, and soft keens and unintelligible whispers fell from his lips. His body was nearly cold, his engine no longer working.

"Must purge corrupted energon from lines," Soundwave grunted, gesturing to Sideswipe's body.

"Are you kidding? He's already lost energon from his damages! You do see his missing arm, right?" Jazz stared wildly at Soundwave. "If we purge him, we'll definitely kill him." For an astrosecond, Jazz wondered if that would be the right thing to do.

Soundwave shook his helm and reached for his forearm plating, scratching at the hinges. Finally, he peeled one edge back, and then, with a hard tug, pulled the plating clear off. "Donation required," he droned, holding out his arm. His lines and cables were exposed beneath, pulsing.

Jazz stared hard at Soundwave. "You're crazy," he whispered. "That could kill you."

"Presently contain highest volume of energon in present mechs," Soundwave said, his voice gravely. "Jazz: reserves too low. This course of action: the only way to mitigate damages." He paused. "Hurry."

Jazz hesitated for another moment, then, cursing, he pulled at Sideswipe's forearm plating on his remaining arm. It shattered, and he had to pull off the fractured pieces and tiny shards one by one. Sideswipe's lines and cables lay beneath, barely pulsing; the energon within his body was barely moving at all. He reached for his descending line, responsible for taking energon from his engine and out to his body, and pulled, hard. Yanking it from Sideswipe's body, he used a piece of Sideswipe's broken plating to sever the line. Energon oozed out, a deep purple, nearly black, and vile.

"Remove as much as possible," Soundwave said. He reached for the shard of plating and tugged at his own lines.

Cursing, Jazz tried to milk at Sideswipe's energon, pushing down on his cables and lines to try to pull as much energon as he could out. It oozed, falling to the dirt in a heavy puddle, thickening to a gelatinous pool of putrid bile. "How are we going to spike his lines?" Jazz asked, cursing again. "We don't have the right equipment!"

Soundwave grunted as he sliced his own line. Energon flowed freely, and he squeezed down, trying to stem the flow. "Open his mouth."

* * *

"This is it." Hound crouched low behind the boulder, pointing toward the dark hillside cave with Prime. "The Decepticon trail leads straight in there."

"Mirage?" Prime spoke into his comm unit. Mirage was scouting the area, invisible, just up ahead. "What can you see?"

"The Combaticons are guarding the entrance, but they're spread out and in hiding. I can guide you in to take them out individually."

Prime nodded and motioned for Sunstreaker's squad. "I'm sending Sunstreaker, Smokescreen and Bluestreak. As soon as the Combaticons have been taken care of, we storm the cave." He motioned toward Ironhide and Red Alert. "Be ready."

A bird cawed above, leaping out of his tree and taking flight, squawking as he did so. Sunstreaker ducked, dropping to the ground and preparing to fire, but Prime stilled his hand.

Bluestreak frowned, his doorwings perking up. Smokescreen's doorwings were quivering as well, tracking an input that no other mech could hear. "What's that?" Smokescreen asked softly, frowning.

Bluestreak swallowed, his gears grinding. "Screaming."

* * *

"Stop!" Jazz shouted frantically. "You're giving him too much! You're going to kill yourself!" He pushed at Soundwave, trying to get him to stop milking his own line. Energon droplets were spattered on Sideswipe's face, small drops that had missed his mouth. Jazz let go of Sideswipe's jaw. His other hand still held Sideswipe's arm, raised above his engine, and he dug at the lines again, trying to secure the shorn-off descending line. He fumbled, trying to tie a knot in the slippery, now-pulsating cable. "His engine is running again," he gasped. It was faint, but Sideswipe's engine was ticking over.

Soundwave groaned and slumped backward, falling flat. He grabbed at his arm, but energon continued to spurt out, free flowing and hot. Jazz cursed and fumbled with Sideswipe's line, finally tying it off. Energon covered his hands, his body, mixing together all over his plating.

He ran to Soundwave, dropping next to him and pulled at his forearm. "Let me close your line." Soundwave's optics flickered as he let his arm go. His strength was fading fast.

"Cube required."

Jazz slipped, and Soundwave's line spurted another jet of hot energon. He cursed and grabbed for it again, trying to calm his shaking fingers. "You can't, Soundwave. It's corrupted. It's poisoned."

"Small volume required."

"You'll still be damaged!" Jazz finally tied off his line, but not without losing more energon. He cursed again, staring up at Soundwave's flickering optics and his underpowered body. If Soundwave didn't get some energon in him, quick, he'd be more than damaged. He'd be offline.

* * *

"There's nothing to hold on to anymore, Prowl!" Starscream screamed, his vocalizer rising above Prowl's own cries of pain. "Your world is destroyed! Your lover is a Decepticon! The Autobots have been betrayed and ruined! There is no one coming for you! No one!" He turned the dial up higher, sending more electricity through Prowl's frame. "Tell me what I want to know!"

Prowl grunted, shaking his helm. "No…" he whispered.

"Tell me!"

"You're wrong!" Prowl gasped, his back struts arching. "You're wrong!"

"Tell me!"

Prowl screamed, static filling the sound as his vocalizer reached its limits. Starscream hissed, pushing harder.

All at once, the cavern shook, and dust fell from the ceiling, raining down on the mechs within. An echoing boom from far away overpowered Prowl's heaving pants. The cavern shook again, more dust and dirt falling. Finally, the old alert systems began to online, and a low alarm blared through the base.

Starscream glared at Skywarp. "Get Thundercracker. See what that is!"

* * *

"This way!" Mirage ran ahead of the team, directing Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Red Alert, Ironhide and Hound into the Decepticon base. The others waited outside, holding down the perimeter as they duked it out with the Constructicons and Stunticons. Ironhide and Sunstreaker followed on either side, blasting their way down the darkened mineshaft corridors.

The mine was unsophisticated, and after a few simple scans, Mirage picked up on the bodies of two unidentified mechs deep within. "I've got two mechs, no transponder beacons, and a third Decepticon in this cave." He gestured down the corridor. "Two Decepticons approaching as well."

Sunstreaker and Ironhide charged their rifles. "Not a problem," Ironhide drawled.

"There's supposed to be three," Sunstreaker grunted. "Where's the other mech?"

Mirage shook his helm. "That's all I'm showing. There's a lot of interference when I try to scan into the deeper levels. We'll have to search ourselves."

"Let's move!" Ironhide bellowed, gesturing the team forward. They ran, following behind and tearing toward their teammates. Bluestreak stayed hoveringly close to Sunstreaker, still.

As they rounded the last turn before they reached the darkened mineshaft leading to the cave cell, Skywarp and Thundercracker opened fire from their hidden positions. Skywarp fired first, pelting laser bursts at Ironhide as fast as he could. Thundercracker opened fire as well, aiming for Sunstreaker with narrowed optics and gritted denta.

"Get back!" The team pressed back against the cave wall, retreating behind the bend. Sunstreaker and Ironhide traded shots back and forth, firing on the Seekers in counterpoint.

"We've got to get to the others!" Red Alert hunkered behind Ironhide, trying to see through the dust and laser fire to their target. "The cave where they're in is only a little bit ahead!"

"I've got a grenade!" Bluestreak pulled one of his flash grenades from his subspace and primed it to fire.

"We don't know if the structure can stand that kind of explosion!" Red Alert shouted back at him. "The whole cave could come down!"

Another laser shot whizzed by, this one too close, nearly melting Sunstreaker's paint. "We don't have a choice," he hollered back. "Blue, throw it! I'll cover you!" He leaned out, firing a blanket of laser fire back at the Seekers. Bluestreak stood quickly and hurled his grenade, throwing it down the mineshaft. He ducked down, turning away, as did everyone else. Sunstreaker landed on top of Bluestreak, covering him with his own body.

The grenade sailed past the cave cell and bounced just in front of the Seekers. Skywarp cursed as it rolled through the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Let's move!" he shouted, grabbing Thundercracker's arm. They turned and ran.

The explosion shook the corridor, rocking the entire mine's structure. Earth rained from above, rocks and heavy debris falling all around. A larger boulder hit Sunstreaker's shoulder, just above where he was shielding Bluestreak's helm. He grunted at the impact, but scrambled to his feet as soon as the dust had settled and peered down the dusty cavern.

"There's been a cave in," Mirage called out, glancing at his static-filled scanner.

"Before or after our mechs?" Red Alert joined Sunstreaker, peering cautiously into the darkness.

"Just after," Mirage finally answered. "And no sign of the Seekers."

"Thank Primus for small miracles," Ironhide grunted. "Let's go."

The sliding cell door had been dented and marred by the cave in, and half-dented off its tracks. Ironhide and Sunstreaker both heaved, shoving as hard as they could, and finally, the door squeaked open. Bluestreak and Red Alert dropped down and shuffled in, scanning the darkness with their rifles ready to fire.

Jazz stared back at them, his optics dim, cradling Soundwave's body in his lap. Soundwave's optics flickered, underpowered, and he barely reacted to the Autobots entry.

Sideswipe lay next to them, energon spattered, not moving.

Sunstreaker stormed into the cave and ran to his brother. His optics hardened, narrowing to slits as he took in Sideswipe's energon-spattered face, torn lines, and broken optics. Sunstreaker whipped his helm around, glaring at Jazz and Soundwave. "What did you do to him?" he growled. His hands trailed over his brother's destroyed shoulder, then down over his remaining arm, broken plating, and his exposed lines. "He's half-destroyed!" Sunstreaker roared.

"We were trying to save him," Jazz spat. He had his own problems to worry about. Soundwave hadn't improved, and he'd drank from the corrupted cube. His arms tightened around Soundwave.

Sunstreaker didn't care for Jazz's answer. He grabbed his rifle and aimed it straight at Jazz.

"Enough!" Ironhide shouted, pushing Sunstreaker's rifle aside. "We've got to get out of here." He stared down at Sideswipe grimly. "Can you carry him out?"

Sunstreaker didn't answer. He shouldered his rifle and, with a care that not many would have ever granted him as having, gently scooped his brother into his arms. Bluestreak tried to steady Sunstreaker as he stood, but his hands dropped before he touched his plating.

Ironhide turned to Jazz. Red Alert was already staring down at the two, frowning. Smokescreen and Mirage were waiting outside, guarding the corridor.

"Jazz, we've got to go," Ironhide grunted. "We've got to get out of here."

"Not without Soundwave." Jazz's tone left no room for argument. He wasn't leaving without him.

"Is he even online?" Ironhide kicked out at Soundwave's foot. The metal clanged loudly, echoing in the cave.

"I function," Soundwave finally droned, his vocalizer static-filled. His optics flickered, but he pushed himself up slowly to a sitting position. Jazz hovered over his shoulder.

Ironhide frowned, glaring down at the both of them. "We've got to move, now. Get up, if you're coming."

"He needs help!" Jazz spat, glaring up at Ironhide. "Help us, will you?"

A silent battle of wills played out in between the two mechs as Jazz glared Ironhide down. Ironhide didn't want to help Soundwave, didn't want to have anything to do with Soundwave. He wanted to shoot him, if he was honest with himself. He wanted to push Jazz aside and lay his rifle up against Soundwave's spark chamber and just pull the trigger as hard as he could.

A loud grunt from Soundwave distracted Ironhide from his thoughts. Soundwave grabbed his helm, pitching forward before his optics blazed bright. He shook his helm, then onlined his external speakers so the Autobots could hear the emergency Decepticon transmission. He still had access to their wide-band frequencies.

Starscream's voice, scratchy and shouting, echoed around the cave. "Decepticons, fall back! Detonation sequence initiated! You have 10 minutes to clear the area. Return to the _Nemesis_ at once!"

Red Alert's optics flashed. "Detonation sequence?"

"Starscream: buried a bomb within the base. Destruction: ensured. Must hurry."

"Where the frag is Prowl?" Bluestreak finally sputtered. "We have to find him! Where is he?"

"Decepticons, incoming!" Mirage hissed form the doorway.

"Location of Prowl: known." Soundwave's optics finally stopped flickering, and he raised his helm to glare at Ironhide.

"You can lead us to him?"

Soundwave nodded.

Cursing bitterly, Ironhide reached out and grabbed Soundwave's arm, pulling him up roughly. Jazz followed, tucking himself in underneath Soundwave's shoulder to steady his movements, then stared pointedly at Ironhide. Ironhide's face twisted, but he pushed himself next to Soundwave and grabbed at his arm, steadying his other side. "Lead on," he spat.

Mirage and Red Alert took point, Ironhide, Soundwave and Jazz in the middle, followed by Sunstreaker carrying his brother, while Smokescreen and Bluestreak brought up the rear. They hurried, moving away from the cave cell as quick as they could, though Sunstreaker's movements were slowed by his brother. Mirage kept his optics focused on the flashing indictors of the Decepticons moving toward them.

At the cavern split, Soundwave stumbled, tripping over his own feet intentionally and knocking Ironhide off balance. Ironhide grunted, trying to steady himself, but Soundwave grabbed him suddenly, using a strength he had been concealing, and threw Ironhide sideways. Shocked, Ironhide grunted as he fell to the ground. "What the frag!"

Soundwave moved quickly, grabbing Ironhide's dropped rifle. He scooped it up and fired toward Bluestreak and Smokescreen. The shot impacted the cave wall between the two doorwingers.

"Soundwave!" Jazz shouted, trying to lunge for him. Soundwave whirled and ran into Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker stared back with burning optics, frozen. He couldn't drop his brother, but he tried to block Soundwave's path of retreat.

Soundwave spun and fired in between Red Alert and Mirage, causing them to scatter. He turned back to Jazz, his optics blazing. "Escape now," he droned. "Get to safety immediately."

"Not without you!" Jazz tried to reach for Soundwave's arm, but Soundwave was already backing away.

Ironhide scrambled to his feet and ran to Sunstreaker, taking the yellow twin's rifle from his backplates. "I knew we couldn't trust a Decepticon like you!" he shouted. He hefted Sunstreaker's rifle and zeroed in on Soundwave.

Soundwave fired back, just barely scrapping the shot over Ironhide's shoulder. Ironhide and Sunstreaker ducked, and the cavern wall shook, dirt and rocks tumbling loose. Soundwave turned and ran down the corridor leading deeper into the base.

Jazz tried to run after him, but Red Alert grabbed him from behind. "Jazz, don't!" Red Alert shouted. "The base is about to explode!"

"Soundwave!" Jazz shouted, struggling to break free. He watched as Soundwave's plating disappeared into the darkness.

Ironhide grunted, whirling around. He stalked to Jazz, glaring down at him. "What did you fragging expect, Jazz?" Ironhide snarled, lubricants flying from his lips. "He's a Decepticon!" He grabbed at Jazz's shoulder, shoving him back roughly as Jazz tried to push past. "What did you expect?"

Jazz didn't answer. Static crept over his visor, breaking his vision into white lines of pain.

"We've got to hurry," Mirage finally said, breaking the silence. "We only have five minutes."

* * *

Soundwave ran through the base, turning down cave paths he knew by spark. Only a few years ago they had built this base, converted from an old mining system, for their uses. He remembered building the caverns and tunnels with excitement as he thought of the imminent demise of the Autobots. How much had changed in so short a time.

Two turns brought him to the descending tunnel, and he ran down as fast as his burning systems would allow. The corrupted energon that he'd taken in was finally working its way to his engine, and though it wasn't enough to stall his systems, he could feel the slowing of his engine, and the thickening of his energon, begin. _Not yet,_ he thought. _Not yet._

Finally, he reached the bottom. A square of light broke the darkness, sunlight streaming in faintly from so far above. It was dim at this depth, but still, Soundwave skirted the light from the air shaft, moving as quietly as he could.

It wasn't quiet enough. He heard the charge of the laser ray and tried to turn, but Skywarp had him cornered. Skywarp's laser ray pushed against the corner of his helm as the purple Seeker stepped out of the darkness. "Well, well, well," Skywarp hissed. "The traitor has returned. I wonder why."

Soundwave's hand tightened around Ironhide's rifle. If he could time it right, he might be able to -

A laser shot from the darkness solved his problem. Skywarp slumped to the side, falling to the dirt, and Soundwave ducked low, raising his rifle cautiously.

Thundercracker stepped forward, moving into the square of light. He stared at Soundwave silently for a long moment before lowering his arm ray.

Soundwave stood as well, lowering Ironhide's rifle. His optics flickered over Thundercracker's injuries, the clear evidence of his own beating at Megatron's hands "Thundercracker," he grunted. "Purpose?"

Thundercracker shook his helm, staring down at Skywarp. "He's only stunned. He'll come to in a minute." He swallowed and turned back to Soundwave. "Why are you here?"

"Prowl." Soundwave gestured forward into the silent darkness.

Thundercracker frowned. "Starscream's still in there, but the power died a few minutes ago. I don't know what going on." He glanced at Soundwave's rifle. "Are you here to kill him or rescue him?"

"Rescue."

"Why?" Thundercracker frowned at Soundwave, and Skywarp groaned, his helm pressing down into the dirt. Sighing, Soundwave averted his optics from Thundercracker's intense gaze and said nothing. Thundercracker shook his helm as glared down at Skywarp. The purple Seeker was groaning in again. "You don't have much time," he said quickly. "I'll open the door for you and you can go get him. Be careful of Starscream." Thundercracker moved with Soundwave into the darkness, down to where Starscream had set up his interrogation room.

"Starscream: not a concern," Soundwave said. He charged the rifle, the soft whine overly loud in the darkness.

"Just…" Thundercracker paused, turning toward Soundwave. "Don't kill him. I know you want to, and he probably deserves it. But… don't kill Starscream. He's a fragger, but he's my fragger. Alright?"

Soundwave nodded, holding Thundercracker's gaze. Thundercracker sighed and turned away, reaching for the door. Soundwave spoke softly to his back. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Thundercracker couldn't turn around and meet his gaze. Instead, he grunted and pulled open the door to the interrogation room. "Goodbye, Soundwave."

Soundwave ran in, his rifle raised, and zeroed in on Starscream. The Seeker was standing in front of Prowl, his null ray raised and ready to fire, pointed directly at Prowl's spark chamber. Prowl was leaning forward, a challenging look on his faceplates, and glaring back at Starscream for everything he was worth. "Do it," Prowl growled, spitting his words out.

Starscream whirled around, staring at Soundwave in shock. Soundwave fired instantly, not hesitating a moment, and took an almost unholy amount of illicit pleasure in that single shot. Behind him, he heard Thundercracker race forward and move to Starscream, grabbing his trinemate. Soundwave dropped the rifle.

Prowl glared up at him, just as fiercely as he had glared at Starscream. "What do you want?" he growled. Energon dripped from his lips, and his optics were overly bright, heightened with pain and too much sensory input. His doorwings were off their hinges on his backplates, disjointed and sticking out at odd angles.

"This will hurt," Soundwave droned, reaching for Prowl's arms. He didn't have any time to waste.

Prowl gasped, screaming through gritted denta as Soundwave pulled up on his hands, tearing his hands free of the bolts. The bolts burned through his palms, breaking through his protoform, his lines and his cables. Hot energon poured from his wounds, staining Soundwave's plating.

"Do you function?" Soundwave said. He pulled on Prowl's arms again, forcing him to rise to his unsteady feet. "Escape required. Imminent destruction."

Prowl shook, his body trembling with too much power and sensation and pain, and he stumbled sideways into Soundwave. Soundwave's arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he pulled Prowl upward roughly, holding him tight to his body. "Hurry," Soundwave droned. He pulled Prowl forward, setting a quick pace out of the interrogation room. Soundwave spared one last glance to Thundercracker, pulling Starscream into his arms.

"Go," Thundercracker called. "We're getting out of here, too." Soundwave nodded and dragged Prowl with him. They passed by Skywarp, struggling to pull himself to his hands and knees, and started up the tunnel.

"Why are you doing this?" Prowl grunted, stumbling.

Soundwave pulled him up again, forcing him to push on. "Your survival: desired."

"Ha!" Prowl snorted, tripping, and spat energon from his mouth. "I doubt that very much."

"Not by myself." Soundwave grunted, huffing, trying to draw more energy as he half-dragged Prowl the rest of the way up the tunnel.

"The feeling is mutual, let me assure you." Prowl ground his words out in between grunts, trying to keep his feet beneath him. "I want to kill you, Soundwave. I want to see you dead."

"Your death: also desired." Soundwave's engine surged, churning with corrupted energon gumming its gears and his building rage at Prowl. He should leave Prowl here, let him lie, drop him and kick him and break his neck, snap it off, choke him until his optics fritzed and his glossa hung out and his plating went grey.

He pushed forward, grunting in time with Prowl as they leaned on each other and struggled out of the cavernous base.

* * *

Mirage frowned over the controls of Skyfire. "I can't find anything! There's too much interference!"

Skyfire grunted in agreement, trying to widen his scans. "It's not working," he said. "I can't break through the electromagnetic fields. That bomb is going to be big."

"Where's Prowl?" Bluestreak snapped. "I don't care about the bomb, just find Prowl!"

"We can't!" Mirage whirled around, glaring at the doorwinger. "I can't find a slagging thing!" Bluestreak turned murderous optics on Mirage before stalking off of Skyfire's flight deck.

He dropped down to the cargo hold and stormed out, passing by Sunstreaker as he laid down his brother for Ratchet's care. Sunstreaker's hands rested on Sideswipe's feet as Ratchet quickly got to work, cursing under his breath. Bluestreak ignored everything and kept on walking, heading down the loading ramp to stand with the others.

Prime was scanning the area as the rest of the mechs held their perimeter. The Aerialbots were overhead, following the retreating Decepticons as they fled the mine and the imminent explosion. Prime had pulled everyone back, but he wasn't leaving until they found Prowl, somehow. Jazz stood off to the side, dazed and dull-optic'd, his visor dim. He'd collapsed down into himself, staring at nothing, hearing nothing, and looking as if his whole world had just walked out the door. To him, it had.

From the other side of the hill, a rocky explosion shattered the sky, sending dirt and rocks flying. A purple jet flew upward, spinning around itself. Skywarp blasted a path through the air shaft to escape, and led the way for his trine. Thundercracker followed in his root mode, carrying Starscream's offline body. Skywarp fired on the Aerialbots as Thundercracker took off, racing away.

"Go after them, Prime?" Silverbolt asked through the comm.

"Not this time," Prime said softly. "We've got a bigger problem to worry about."

Bluestreak stopped, his gears grinding, and stared up the hillside. Only a minute left, and no sign of Prowl.

* * *

Prowl's vents were burning, his systems sparking, and he couldn't muster another ounce of energy to keep moving. "I can't!" he shouted, bellowing at Soundwave. "I can't keep going!"

"Prowl: must!" Soundwave hollered back, physically dragging Prowl. His own systems were sparking now, dangerously past critical condition. He couldn't keep dragging Prowl forever. "Keep moving!"

"You fragging hunk of Decepticon scrap," Prowl growled. "I despise you. I loathe you. When I am functioning again, I fully intend to kill you, Soundwave. I'll tear you limb from limb, rip out every circuit in your processor, tear your spark chamber from your chest." He heaved another breath, struggling to put his feet down. "Your spark chamber is going to be Grimlock's new toy."

Soundwave could see the light at the cave entrance, but his internal countdown was nearing its final seconds. He couldn't make the cave entrance in time, and the final ten seconds began to tick down. "Hurry," he droned, throwing himself and all of his power into running the last final hundred feet. He grabbed Prowl tighter, forcing him along.

The explosion shattered the mine from deep within, causing a catastrophic cave in that started from the mine's center. It spread outward, igniting tapped pockets of gases and fumes, old black powder barrels and forgotten stores of human supplies, and the cave network directed the fast-spreading ball of fire through its maze, guided by a thirst for air and material. Soundwave could hear the crackling of the blazing inferno as it thundered toward them, eclipsing his and Prowl's speed. Only a few feet more…

The fireball engulfed their bodies just as they burst from the cave entrance, circling around their plating and licking at their armor. Prowl shouted, screaming in pain as his doorwings took flame, burning, and he lost his footing entirely. Soundwave grabbed him as they ran, pushing through the fire, and he barreled down the sloping entrance before he too lost his own footing. Together they rolled, half on fire and tumbling down the hillside as the raging inferno burst outward, burning out of the yawning cave entrance, crackling and fierce.

"What the slag is that?" Ironhide gasped, pointing at the tumbling ball of flaming, conjoined mech. He and Prime frowned, then began to move. After two steps, they ran.

The entire crew ran as well, moving to help. Soundwave and Prowl finally rolled to a stop, and they fell apart instantly, Soundwave rolling away from Prowl's burning doorwings. He'd already taken burn damage himself, and half his helm plating had melted from the flames.

"Prowl!" Bluestreak's shrill voice rang out over the crew, the first mech to recognize Prowl's wounded body and burning doorwings. He ran, tossing his rifle aside as he threw himself down to Prowl's side. He grabbed his shoulder's, forcing him to roll as he tried to beat the flames down in the dirt and the wet grasses.

The rest of the crew surrounded them moments later, each trying to help as they steadied Prowl, holding him still, putting out the fires. Someone called for Ratchet. Bluestreak was stroking Prowl's face gently, telling him he was safe, and that they were all going to be alright, and the entirety of the crew surrounded him, supported him, trying to help.

Prowl's optics swam, dizzy and disoriented, and he couldn't focus on anything. He couldn't hear, everything was distorted, scratchy and static-filled, and there were simply too many mechs around him. He tried to struggle, trying to get free, but Ratchet pushed his way next to Prowl and dumped an entire vial of sedatives into his lines.

Prowl's helm rolled to the side in the grass, his processor slowing and preparing to drop offline. He could see, just to his side, Soundwave, lying in the grass, perfectly still. Jazz was with him, holding his hand, stroking his face, and even through the entire _Ark_ had run to Prowl's side, and everyone was there, fussing over him, relieved he was alive, trying save him, all Prowl wanted at that moment was to have Jazz there, holding his hand and stroking his face.

Instead, he watched as Jazz smiled down at Soundwave and mouthed the words, "I love you," to the Decepticon. The sun beat down on Prowl's body, and the cloudless sky betrayed the tempest in his spark, pretending a calmness that had no basis in reality. Where was the storm, the destruction just on the horizon? It existed in Prowl's spark, and soon, it would cover the world, all of his world. Prowl's optics dimmed, then fell offline, and his last images were Jazz's fingers tracing over Soundwave's lips and his soft, gentle smile. It wasn't for Prowl.

* * *

The next week was a blur to Prowl, a mixture of pain and sedatives, and of blurry faces fading in and out. He was loaded onto Skyfire and laid next to Sideswipe for the trip back, Ratchet and Wheeljack working on the both of them together. Prowl figured he must have been injured pretty badly; Ratchet was liberal with his sedatives, and Prowl was doped up and out of reality faster than he could protest.

He woke once in the middle of the night, alone, coughing, and in pain, but his automatic sedative drip pulled him under before he could look around. He did see several other medberth terminals onlined, showing different levels of vitals and health statuses. His processor was still damaged, however, and he couldn't remember what he needed to before he slipped under again.

The next time he awoke, he was propped up on his side, and his processor instantly alerted him to his very-much-missing doorwings. They had been removed, and his hinges were exposed and uncovered. Prowl gingerly tried to look over his shoulder, but the movement hurt, far too much. He hissed, wincing, and returned to his side.

"Ratchet said to tell you not to move." Sunstreaker's gruff voice startled Prowl. His helm flicked up, and he stared across the small divide between him and the next medberth. Sideswipe lay on top of the berth, offline, a heavy static bandage secured over his optics and around half his helm. A new arm, armor-plate-less and unpainted, had already been reattached to his shorn shoulder. Sunstreaker sat next to his brother, a pulse rifle lying over his brother's legs within easy reach. There was a data pad on Sideswipe's chest, and a small cable connected the pad to Sideswipe's access junction. Prowl frowned at the sight.

"Music," Sunstreaker grunted. "I think it's slag, but Sides loves it." He shrugged. "It makes him feel better." Sunstreaker turned back to his own data pad.

"What's going on?" Prowl grunted. His gears caught, not used to speaking. His vocalizer was sore, still raw from his screaming and terrible bellows with Starscream. "What happened? Where's Jazz?"

Sunstreaker stared back at Prowl for a long moment. "Soundwave rescued you," he said bluntly. "Dragged you out of the mine, but you were both still caught in the explosion." Sunstreaker turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "He's doing better than you."

Prowl's optics lifted, staring beyond Sunstreaker. Soundwave was on the berth on the far side of the medbay, offline as well, though with stronger vitals. Next to him, seated in a chair just like Sunstreaker, was Jazz. Rage, coupled with a shock of pure anguish, tore through Prowl.

"He's cuffed," Sunstreaker interjected, seeing Prowl's expression. "He's cuffed and chained to the chair, which is the only way Red Alert and Ratchet would let him in. And he's fine."

Prowl's optics flashed to Sunstreaker. Complex emotions warred within him: rage at Jazz's betrayal, fury at his presence, and an anxious sadness at his captivity. Duty, however, won out. "He shouldn't be here," he croaked.

Sunstreaker nodded, glancing back once before turning to Sideswipe. "That's what Ratchet said. Prime only lets Jazz come at night. I volunteered to guard while he's here." Sunstreaker gestured toward Sideswipe. "I'm here anyway."

"How is Sideswipe?" Prowl was cringing inside, shamed that he hadn't asked that question yet. Those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

"Better," Sunstreaker grunted. "Ratchet replaced his optics. He should be functional by morning."

"That's good," Prowl whispered. His doorwing hinges trembled, aching. "That's good." His optics faded as he stared at Sideswipe, and the last thing he heard was Sunstreaker's voice, calling his name.

* * *

Sunstreaker was exhausted, nearly ready to offline himself, and only the cube he clutched in his hands was keeping him going. He hurried down the hallway, racing back to his quarters to drop off Sideswipe's music pad and grab another laser cartridge for his rifle before he had to report back on duty. He spent his nights ensconced with his brother and his days on extra patrol, providing an added measure of firepower and security to the _Ark_'s regular patrols. It had been almost a week since the mine incident, and still, not a peep from the Decepticons.

He rounded the corridor and stopped dead in his tracks. There, hovering outside his door was the last mech he expected to see: Bluestreak.

Warily, Sunstreaker resumed walking, and he glared at the back of Bluestreak's helm. What was he doing there? This was too similar to old times, when Bluestreak would wait at his door when he left the medbay, ready for interfacing the instant Sunstreaker was back up to strength. Sunstreaker had been worried that Bluestreak would try something like this, that he'd try to sneak back into Sunstreaker's berth somehow. He couldn't bear it. He'd rather push Bluestreak away entirely than only have a half of him. "Blue?" he grunted, reaching for his keypad.

All at once, Bluestreak whirled around, and Sunstreaker froze. The Bluestreak before him wasn't anything like the Bluestreak he knew. This was a different mech. His mouth dropped open.

"Sunstreaker?" Bluestreak whispered. He was shivering, his arms wrapped around himself, and his optics were white with terror. Blue shocks ringed the edges of his gaze, and his lips were trembling uncontrollably. His doorwings, normally so expressive, were limp and listless, lifeless. He was a mech on the very ragged edge.

"Bluestreak?" Sunstreaker was aghast. This was the last thing he ever expected.

"Sunstreaker, I don't know what to do," Bluestreak whispered. He clutched himself tighter. "Primus, I just don't know what to do, and you're the only one I can think of. Oh, Primus…" His words trailed off as he began rocking back and forth. "Primus, it's happening again, and I don't know what to do." Panic was leaking into his vocalizer, static creeping into the edges.

"What's wrong?" Sunstreaker frowned, facing Bluestreak. He didn't want to care, but damn him, he still loved the blasted mech.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Bluestreak's vocalizer was slightly hysterical now, rising in pitch and volume. "Primus, everything's wrong!" he shrieked. "Jazz is a traitor, he's a fragging Decepticon-"

"No, he's fragging _a_ Decepticon," Sunstreaker interjected.

Bluestreak didn't appreciate the correction. "He's fragging lost his processor!" Bluestreak shouted. "He's a collaborator, and he's broken Prowl, and he nearly got you two killed, and it's just too much, Sunstreaker!" Bluestreak was shaking now, uncontrollably, and his shouts were hoarse and full of static. "It's too much, and I can't control it anymore."

"Control what? Blue, you're not making any sense!" Sunstreaker palmed open his door and dragged Bluestreak inside. "What the slag is going on with you?"

Bluestreak shuddered and seemed to collapse in on himself further, shrinking away from everything. He was trying to escape, escape reality and escape himself. "Primus, Sunny," he whispered. "I just can't do it. I can't, I can't!"

Sunstreaker reached out with both hands, grasping him by his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Bluestreak shuddered again, long and hard, and when he looked up, his optics were pure white, blazing, and he wasn't looking at Sunstreaker any longer. He was looking through him, gazing at the past and at the battlefield of ghosts that haunted his every step. "It's like before," he said hoarsely, his vocalizer full of static. "It's just like before, when Praxus was destroyed. There's just too much, too much pain, too much anger. It's too much, and I can't stop these feelings!" He gasped, doubling over. "I just don't want to feel anything, Sunstreaker! I can't let myself feel anything, because if I do, it's all of this!" He wailed, gasping as he clutching himself, trying to flee everything. "I just can't do this! Make it stop, please! Make it stop!" He gasped, a long, loud and ragged inhale of air, and panted out his sob. "I'm so sorry I can't love you, Sunstreaker. I want to, Primus, I want to so badly. You're perfect, and you help me forget everything… I just can't. I can't feel anything! I can't let myself!"

Sunstreaker stared at Bluestreak for a long moment. Finally, he forced Bluestreak to look up into his gaze. "How long has this been going on, Bluestreak?"

Whimpering, Bluestreak pressed into Sunstreaker's touch. "Since forever. This time…. Since Jazz… Since he was a traitor. It's been worse since the mine."

"And what have you been doing when you're like this before?"

"I hide," Bluestreak whispered. His optics burned, raging white. Static choked his vocalizer. "I hide in the cargo bay, and I just stay there, alone. I pass out, eventually. But, oh Primus, Sunstreaker, I can't do it this time. I need you, Primus, I need you so badly. Please, help me. I can't be alone. I can't be alone anymore."

Too many emotions tore through Sunstreaker, raw and unchecked. He offlined his optics, holding Bluestreak at arm's length. He couldn't speak, not yet. His brother was half dead, the world was collapsing, and Bluestreak had shown up on his doorstep, begging for his help and his love. The world had gone utterly mad.

"Blue," he finally grunted. "You're alone for a reason." He nearly choked on his words, and they struggled past his grinding gears. "You can't open up to anyone. You can't talk to anyone. Primus, Blue, I would have given anything to help you." He swallowed, and took his hands off of Bluestreak's shoulders. "But that's not my role anymore." He took a step backward, slowly.

"What?" Bluestreak whispered, his voice shaking. "What… You're going to leave me? Like this? You can't!" Bluestreak's trembles resumed, full force. "Please!"

"I want to help you, Bluestreak," Sunstreaker said softly. "I do. But…" He looked at the door. "I have to go. The patrol is waiting for me."

"Sunny, please," Bluestreak whimpered. "Please don't leave me."

Offlining his optics again, Sunstreaker tried to breathe. He didn't know what to do, and his spark was screaming, pleading with him to act. He was just so tired, too tired, and all he wanted to do was pull Bluestreak to him and let them both fall into recharge, stay offline until the world righted itself and all the darkness and pain had left forever. That, however, would solve nothing, not between them, not for Bluestreak, and not for the Autobots, either. "Come with me," he finally said, onlining his optics.

"What?"

"Come with me on patrol. We'll go together. Let's drive together, like we used to." Sunstreaker held out his hand to Bluestreak. "We'll talk soon, Bluestreak. I do want to help," he grunted. "But, it's complicated. And right now, the crew needs us." He inhaled, holding his breath.

Bluestreak stared at his hand, as if expecting it would attack him. Finally he nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "I just need a minute."

Sunstreaker nodded and watched as Bluestreak visibly pulled himself together, working to replace the fragile, broken parts of his real self and spark with the shell he'd created and the mask he wore around everyone. In minutes, he was back to what he appeared to be, but to Sunstreaker, he would never be the same again. He reached out again, holding out his hand.

Bluestreak smiled timidly, and a tiny portion of that broken mech reappeared as he grasped Sunstreaker's hand and squeezed tight, holding on for all he was worth.

* * *

The next time Prowl onlined, he was face down, and his doorwings – which were decidedly there – were burning. Pain skittered across their surfaces, and his hinges ached, all the way down to his feet. He hissed, trying to shift, and rolled his helm slowly to the side.

Sideswipe's concerned face met his, a worried look in his very much online and functioning optics. Prowl froze, staring at Sideswipe, and briefly wondered if his optics were always that shade of deep indigo.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe asked carefully. He was sitting up on his berth, his data pad in his lap. His arm was still in half-repair, the plating more off than on. His helm was mended, though, and his optics were glowing brightly. "Are you alright?"

"My doorwings," Prowl grunted, trying to shift. "Primus…"

"Ratchet will be right back." Sideswipe shifted, uncertain of what to do, and then finally scooted to the edge of his berth. Gingerly he hopped down, and he crossed the divide between their berths. "Here, let me help." Sideswipe held out his hand, and Prowl grabbed it quickly, using Sideswipe to leverage himself slowly upward, inch by trembling inch. His doorwings were still burning, and they shivered in their aching hinges. He gasped, dimming his optics against the pain.

Carefully, he glanced past Sideswipe, but Soundwave's berth, and the chair beside it, was now empty. Sideswipe caught his movement, and looked as well. He turned back, his optics guarded. "Soundwave was released yesterday," he said.

"Yesterday?" Prowl's sense of time was still all out of whack.

"You've been offline for almost a week," Sideswipe said. "Your processor was damaged, your doorwings were burnt…" He trailed off. "And, then there was what Starscream did to you." Sideswipe looked away, the gears in his jaw clenching.

Prowl frowned, watching him. "How are you?" he asked. "You were hurt far worse than I was."

Sideswipe tried to smile, though it was a bare shadow of its normal self. "I'm okay. Recovering slowly. I got my optics back." His smile brightened a tiny bit.

"I see," Prowl said softly. He managed a tiny grin of his own.

Silence settled over the pair, growing tense and uncomfortable. Sideswipe knew he should head back to his berth, away from Prowl and away from all their untouchable conversations. He'd revealed too much, shared too much, and he didn't know how to act now, all exposed and vulnerable. He also didn't know who this Prowl was he was speaking to. He'd seen too many versions over the past few weeks and months, too many to count. He missed the old Prowl, the one he'd fallen in love with.

"Sideswipe-" Prowl started to say, just as Sideswipe finally spoke as well. "Prowl, I-"

Prowl stopped short, then nodded for Sideswipe to continue. Sideswipe swallowed and looked down, around, up, anywhere but at Prowl. "Prowl, I… I'm sorry, for everything I said. I shouldn't have told you, I shouldn't have pressured you, I shouldn't have dumped all of that onto you. You have so much else to worry about, and I never did tell you because… Well, I knew that nothing would ever come from it." Sideswipe sighed and stared down at his hands. His new fingers flexed, curling around themselves. "I care about you, Prowl. I always have. And, I just want you to know that that's not going to stop. I'll always care for you, deeply." He finally looked up, meeting Prowl's hard gaze. "But, I know that nothing will ever happen. And I'm okay with that." He tried to smile. "I am. Just… let me love you? In my own way?"

For a long moment, Prowl didn't move a micron. Even his trembles ceased. He stared back at Sideswipe, his optics a storm cloud of too many emotions and nothing at all. Finally, he spoke, but his voice was low, too deep, and ground out over his words. "How can you be so whole-sparked?" Prowl choked out. "How can you be so… giving?" He shook his helm, looking away quickly. "I deserve your anger, Sideswipe. You should hate me. You should scream at me. You should regret ever feeling anything for me at all." He swallowed, trying to focus his optics, and turned back to Sideswipe's young, innocent face. "Why don't you hate me? I don't deserve any of your affection, Sideswipe. I _don't_."

"Well, you have it," Sideswipe whispered. He reached for Prowl's hand, squeezing the berth edge too-tight. His fingers barely ghosted over the backs of his palm. "And, I regret nothing, except that I caused you pain." He frowned, pulling back his hand. "And, that I wasn't able to stop them from taking you to Starscream."

"Sideswipe, you were half dead," Prowl protested.

"Yeah, but…" Sideswipe shook his helm. "I should have done more for you. All I was was a problem."

Prowl opened his mouth to argue, but Ratchet chose that moment to reappear, shouting at Sideswipe to get back in his berth as he bustled over to Prowl's side. Prowl expected an answering outburst directed toward him for being up and for not resting, but Ratchet instead chose a different tack. "I see you're finally online."

Prowl frowned back at Ratchet. "My doorwings are burning," he grunted. He tried to flex them and grunted at the pain.

Ratchet shook his helm. "That's a sensor echo, Prowl. You're still feeling when they were on fire. They're in perfect working order. I can give you a pain sedative, but that's all I can do. They'll work themselves out soon enough."

Prowl shook his helm. "What's the status of the others?"

"Sideswipe here is on the mend. I need to finish with his arm today, and then I can kick him out too." Ratchet nodded toward Sideswipe, barely concealing a small smile. Sideswipe smiled back thinly, waving with his new arm. Ratchet's smile dropped, however, as he pressed on. "Jazz was released first, and has been in the brig ever since. Soundwave was released yesterday and is down there now as well."

Prowl's helm whipped around, glaring at Ratchet. "The brig was destroyed."

"It's been repaired, at least enough." Prowl still glared hard at Ratchet. "Yes, Prowl," Ratchet finally said. "They're in separate cells."

Sideswipe looked away, fiddling with his data pad.

"Prime wants to see you whenever you're back on duty." Ratchet continued. "I can keep you here as long as you need, though. Is anything else bothering you?"

Prowl recognized the kindness in Ratchet's gruff words and stiff manner. He could hide in the medbay, push the world away, stay there as long as he could, and forget the troubles that awaited him. Already, he'd been in medical recharge for longer than was strictly necessary. It was tempting, and tantalizing, and he so wished he could just take a line of sedatives straight to the spark. But instead, he shook his helm, and pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go report to Prime." His doorwings trembled, still aching, but he pushed that aside. "Thank you, Ratchet."

He moved slowly toward the doors, trying to organize his thoughts, trying to pull himself together, and trying to forget the pain in his doorwings. They were still trembling, and that did nothing to ease the pain, either. Prowl was so focused in on himself, so consumed with trying to prepare himself for the world at large, that he missed entirely Sideswipe's tiny words of goodbye, and his downcast, dim optic'd expression gazing sadly down at his pad.

* * *

"The Decepticons, it seems, have disappeared," Prime said, staring across his desk at Prowl. He frowned, confused. "We haven't heard a word from them since the mine incident."

Prowl nodded slowly. Everyone had taken to calling his kidnapping, torture and flame broiling, as well as Soundwave's subsequent recapture and Sideswipe's near-death, as the "mine incident." He didn't know if he should be offended or not. "No trace of them anywhere? No comm intercepts?"

"Nothing." Prime shook his helm. "I was certain they'd make another move on Soundwave. I can't believe they'd just leave him here."

"Perhaps this is part of a deeper plan," Prowl mused. "A tactic for intelligence? A means to lower our guard? Soundwave is still a Decepticon…" he trailed off. "And we don't truly know Jazz's full allegiances anymore."

Prime nodded slowly. "I had thought of that. I don't see any real way to solve this problem, however, outside of what we're already doing. Jazz and Soundwave are secured in the brig, away from any access to potential intelligence. They haven't tried anything, no attempts to escape, no hacks, nothing at all since we returned. And," Prime added, seeing that Prowl had been on fire and unconscious at the time. "They both returned to the _Ark_ willingly."

Prowl's optics dimmed as he looked away. "I see nothing that should change our course of action, Prime. Whether the Decepticons have truly left Soundwave to our care, or whether they are simply bidding their time as they regroup, our course is the same: we must hold the Tribunal. And, we must capitalize on this period of calm." He looked back at Prime, holding his gaze. "Justice must run its course." His optics blazed bright.

Prime only hesitated for a moment. "I agree that we must still hold our Tribunal," he said carefully. "However, are you certain you are in the right mindset to sit as an arbiter, Prowl?" He peered across the desk at Prowl, his optics narrowing. Prime had served with Prowl for a long time, a Primusly long time, and he'd come to know Prowl almost as better than Prowl knew himself. He could read Prowl, read his thoughts, read his feelings, in all the tiny ways Prowl struggled to hold himself together. His tight optics, the thin lines scratched over his faceplates betrayed his agonizing thoughts, whirling too fast. He was struggling, struggling with something even he couldn't understand. The darkness edging his optics, and the slight twitching of his doorwings, as if he couldn't control them of his own volition. He was hiding something.

Prowl swallowed and held Prime's gaze. "I must, Prime," he said simply. "The Tribunal is made up of the three senior officers: yourself, myself, and Jazz. Jazz is on trial. Red Alert will take his place. Who will take my place?" Prowl shook his helm. "This is my duty, Prime. I've already made enough mistakes as it is. Don't let me make another one. If nothing else, let me bring justice to this mess." Prowl's gears clenched after he spoke. He was treading on a razor's edge here, and he didn't know how much, or even if, Prime could see through it. He was close, far, far too close, to the line between duty and selfishness. He was heaping rationalizations on top of rationalizations, trying to criss and cross and zig and zag his way into remaining in the one place he should not be: trying Jazz, punishing Soundwave, and presiding over the Tribunal.

It wasn't logical any longer. It wasn't rational, and it wasn't about justice. It was ownership, and power, and everything he'd been denied. It was his rage, his agony, and his anguish. If he couldn't be the lover, then let him be the conqueror. Let him be the vanquisher. He'd been spurned from the path of the gentle, of the loving, spurned from all of his spark's desire, and instead, he rode the path of hatred, and of his nearly translucent shade of duty. The duties of one role had been ripped from him; his rank, his position, and this tribunal would offer him a satisfaction he could taste, a delicious revenge that he could exalt in, bask in, and revel in. He must have it. He must have it entirely. It wasn't right, but he refused to think that thought.

"Red Alert has prepared enough documentation on the Decepticon's war crimes and on Soundwave's military history," Prowl said abruptly, standing. "I'll go review it immediately." He nodded to Prime. "I see no reason why we shouldn't capitalize on this moment and begin the Tribunal immediately."

Prime stared at Prowl, long and hard. Silence reigned throughout his office. "You do understand that they are both guilty?" Prime asked softly. "And that this is Jazz? Our Jazz." He paused, his optics flickering. "Do you really want to do this?"

_Yes, oh yes_, his spark whispered.

"It must be done," Prowl said simply. He closed his expression, closed off his optics, and ruthlessly crushed his emotions. A small part of his spark sneered in protest, throwing the irony in his face. He'd become what he loathed, a perfect, impenetrable shell, hard and cold, unbreakable, inescapable. He'd become as emotionless as Soundwave appeared to be, and as ruthless as any Decepticon. He'd become everything everyone had ever sneered at him for, had ever called him behind his back.

Was this the bottom? Or did he have further to fall?

Prime exhaled, a tired, lengthy sigh that spoke of too many long years and too many nightmares, too many battles fought with too many losses. Add another one to the pile, but this time, it stung too close. "We'll begin tomorrow morning," Prime said softly. "I must agree with your tactical appraisal. We have to find resolution out of this mess. The crew is…" Prime swallowed and shook his helm sadly. He paused, staring at Prowl, an odd look to his optics. "I will handle Jazz's portion of the Tribunal."

Prowl nodded stiffly. "I understand."

"Good luck with your preparations, Prowl." Prime stared at him, sad.

"And you with yours." Prowl nodded and turned to leave, striding out of Prime's office as if they hadn't just sealed the fate of their closest friend, fellow officer, and Prowl's former lover.

* * *

The sounds of the opera music were deafening. The pounding bass, swirling crescendos and stratospheric sopranos shook Prowl's office, rattling his desk, his terminals, and the widescreen display unit hanging on his wall. His screens vibrated, nearly rattling off their fixtures, and the displays were trembling, the data - Red Alert's reports on Soundwave, the early war, and all the evidence for his war crimes - nearly incomprehensible.

Prowl stood silent in the center, letting the music pour through his body, shaking his soul. His doorwings, still sensitive, were burning with the input crawling over their surfaces. The agony was delicious, a perfect counterpart to his soul. Soundwave's military record played over his processor: the destruction of Praxus, the razing of Kalis. Iacon. Thousands dead, civilians destroyed, their world ruined. Military campaign ran with terror. Insurgency. Destroying the lives and livelihoods of an entire planet. Taking the war to Earth. 36 humans dead.

Still, despite the deafening volume and his turgid thoughts, Prowl's helm twisted over his shoulder as he heard the faint chime of his door. He paused, debating whether he should pretend to not hear it. Finally, he comm'd his visitor in.

Sideswipe stepped through the doorway. His arm was fully repaired, freshly painted, and he looked for all the world as if he hadn't just had a too-close brush with death. Prowl nodded to him once and turned back to his opera, offlining his optics. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stood perfectly still. He'd turned stillness to an art form, impenetrability to a craft.

Sideswipe moved forward slowly, letting the music wash over him. He stopped next to Prowl, standing shoulder to shoulder and nearly touching his plating. "Carmen," he whispered, nodding. "The final duet," He swallowed, smiling sadly. "It's fitting, I suppose."

Slowly, Prowl's helm turned, an incredulous look fixed to his face. "How on Earth do you know anything about opera?" Prowl said in between the singers passionate cries.

Sideswipe's optics twinkled sadly. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Prowl," he said. "I can read, I add without using my fingers, I play Levels, and when Sunny and I were in San Francisco, I fell in love with opera music." He smiled again, turning away. "It fit my mood at the time," he added. Of course, his mood had been one of torment: Jazz and Prowl had just gotten together and Prowl was decidedly happy with his new love. Now, opera was playing again for Sideswipe, just like the first time, when he and his brother had driven by a street theatre and Sideswipe had been transfixed by the outpouring of emotion. This time, the torment was wholly different.

"What were you two doing in San Francisco?" Prowl asked. "Really?"

Sideswipe sighed, letting his optics offline. "Sunstreaker is an artist," he said, as if admitting a family secret. "But he keeps it hidden. We go to art shows, sometimes. He likes to see the different styles that the humans have." Sideswipe onlined his optics and smirked sidelong at Prowl. "But he'll kill you if you accuse him of it."

Prowl snorted, shaking his helm. The music crested, blocking out any attempt at speech, and Sideswipe inhaled, letting his processor translate the lyrics automatically. He could feel the emotions of the music deep within his spark, and that's what had first drawn him to the opera. The French words of love and lust, and of madness and hatred, poured through his soul. It truly was fitting.

_"Why do you occupy yourself with a heart which does not belong to you…" _Sideswipe whispered, translating the singer's words._ "So much for the salvation of my soul. I have lost it because of you…_"

Prowls voice joined in, his optics offline, his hands still crossed over his chest. _"Let me save you, you whom I adore. Let me save you and save myself. I will forget the past. I will not stand to see you in his arms…"_

The music swelled, the passion and power of the lovers cresting, and the murder which erupted from the madness, too far gone to cling to reality any longer. Sideswipe's gears clenched in his throat, grinding together. It was fitting, too, too fitting.

He turned to Prowl, staring at his profile. Prowl was unmoving, unflinching, letting himself become the music. He was steel, hardened, impenetrable. Ice. Untouchable. Unbreakable.

Sideswipe knew better. He'd seen the cracks, seen the chinks in the plating and the fury. He was scared, terrified for Prowl's sake. "Prowl?"

"I can't believe you know opera," Prowl mused, shaking his helm. He finally turned to Sideswipe, and his optics shone with a different vulnerability than had ever been there before. "I tried to show it to Jazz, once." His whispers faded to nothing as the music died, the opera over. Prowl shook his helm. "He hated it."

The silence that followed was louder than the opera had been as Prowl turned away and stared at the decking. All of his memories were playing on an endless loop, and every question Prowl had was interjecting itself into his processor. He was going mad, mad with rage, mad with curiosity, and mad with betrayal. When had Jazz been with Soundwave? What days? What hours? What had Prowl been doing, when Jazz had been away? Why hadn't Prowl been at his side? What had Prowl done, what had driven Jazz from his arms? What and why haunted his being. How and when chased at his heels, driving him in circles around circles in his helm, pushing him to his limits. He had been pouring through Soundwave's file, pouring through the history of the dark Decepticon, and all he had to show for it was a vile and black spark, a record of evil, and a burning coil of wounded pride, betrayed love, and an utter, soul-deep scream. His processor spun, and he remembered, with perfect, lasting clarity, exactly where he'd set down the data pad with Wheeljack's virus program. It was on the edge of his desk, where he'd set it down for the 16th time, after talking himself down from executing the file for the 15th time. Oh, but he yearned to do so, so desperately he could imagine each and every breath, each and every movement of his fingers, the exact sequence of his moves to erase Soundwave from the universe.

"Prowl, I'm not leaving you," Sideswipe finally said, breaking through Prowl's confused tumble. "The Tribunal… I heard it starts tomorrow?" Sideswipe waited until Prowl slowly nodded, his helm downcast. "I am not leaving you," Sideswipe repeated. "You are not alone. Do you hear me?" He waited, but Prowl didn't answer.

Sideswipe moved, placing himself directly in front of Prowl as he forced Prowl's optics to meet his own. "You are not alone. I love you, Prowl," Sideswipe said forcefully. This time, he could see Prowl's reaction – the tightening of his optics, the twitch of his lips, and the heavy, hefty swallow that rose and fell within his neck. "I'm not letting you do this alone."

Again, silence reigned, harsh and impenetrable. Sideswipe fought it, standing his ground. He waited for Prowl, proving to him in his actions that he wasn't going anywhere.

Finally, Prowl spoke, though his voice was low. "What if I want to be alone?"

"When have I ever left you alone?" Sideswipe gently teased. He smiled at Prowl, a tiny, soft smile.

"You should leave, Sideswipe," Prowl said, his gears grinding. "You should run away. You should leave me. I'm… I'm dangerous. I'm going to hurt someone, either me, or you, or someone else." His words were barely breathed now, near whispers of breath. "I have so much… rage in me… There's nothing else, Sideswipe. Nothing."

"I don't believe that," Sideswipe whispered back. He shook his helm. "I know you, Prowl."

"I'm not worth it, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered. "I'm not worth your time, or your energy."

"That's not true," Sideswipe whispered. "I know who you are. I should," he chuckled softly. "I love you. And we're going to get through this, Prowl." He paused. "Together."

Prowl glanced up sharply, staring at Sideswipe. His processor spun, and suddenly, it wasn't Sideswipe before him, but Jazz, and those same words were coming out of his own mouth, comforting Jazz when Jazz was scrapping bottom and falling as far as he could fall. The memory was dizzying, too much emotion and change having passed between then and now. He shuddered, offlining his optics.

"This is going to be terrible, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered. The Tribunal, the trial, the execution that would be required. It would be terrible, and it would tear their world apart, no matter which way it ended. The tribunal was a siren's call to Prowl's spark, beckoning for justice, and sure to serve up utter calamity. Utterly certain, spark-breaking calamity. "You're a good mech, Sideswipe," he whispered again. "Maybe the last good mech there is. Don't let this darkness touch you."


	14. Chapter 14

**Fracture Mechanics 14**

* * *

_Thank you dearly to everyone who has read this story._

* * *

The Cassettes were lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, jostled into place by Starscream and Skywarp. The two Seekers loomed behind, dark grins spread over their face's.

Thundercracker stayed away. The bruised blue Seeker was still _persona non grata_, still hovering in the shadows and sulking silently around the _Nemesis_. His crimson optics burned out of the darkness at the back of the command deck, watching the raw spectacle unfold.

"Which one of you," Megatron began slowly, "is also a traitor?" He stared down the four Cassettes.

Rumble and Frenzy stuttered, each trying to speak over the other. Ravage growled, long and low. Only Laserbeak was silent, his optics narrowing to crimson slits.

"Silence!" Megatron roared. His voice echoed around the command deck, bouncing down the cold metal corridors. "Be silent!"

The Cassettes stilled instantly, freezing every joint and servo. In the sudden quiet that followed, the hum of Megatron's fusion canon could finally be heard, rumbling. A purple glow buzzed around his arm, charging.

Megatron began again. "Which of you," he hissed, "still places their allegiance with the _traitor_?" His fusion canon pulsed. "And which of you bear true allegiance to the Decepticons?"

Again, Rumble and Frenzy couldn't speak fast enough, their vocalizers shorting as they tried to speak over each other, louder and louder. "I ain't got nothing to do with that slag, Megatron!" Rumble shouted. "I didn't know nothing about no Autobots and being a traitor!"

Soundwave had kept much from his two mechanoid symbionts. Only Lazerbeak and Ravage had known anything was amiss, and they, only tangentially.

"Me neither, Megatron!" Frenzy shouted, trying to elbow his way forward. "I didn't know slag about Soundwave's Autobot! Imma real Decepticon! I am!"

Grinning, Megatron chuckled, a deep, dreadful sound. "Spoken as a true Decepticon, I see," he said. "Betraying your own betrayed."

Frenzy tried to push forward, fighting against Skywarp's firm grip. "I ain't no betrayer, Megatron!"

"Excellent," Megatron rumbled. His optics narrowed as he turned to the feral Cassettes. "And what about you two?"

Ravage who reacted first, snarling wildly as he dropped to his hindquarters. His metal lips curled back, revealing his razor-shearing titanium denta. A low growl formed in his throat, his optics dark and flashing hot.

Megatron's fusion canon hummed as his hand closed into a tight, metal-crunching fist. He grinned, a dark, dangerous thing, and prepared to fire.

Laserbeak's scream broke across the command deck, piercingly intense and scratching over the metal bulkheads. Skywarp ducked, his audials fritzing, and Laserbeak took off, circling around Starscream's helm as he continued his electric shrieks. Beneath him, Ravage lunged at Megatron, snarling.

Megatron had expected this, at least from the ferals. The primitives had always been too close to Soundwave. He fired at the two feral Cassettes, his fusion canon roaring to life with a crackling electric haze. The Seekers dove aside, shoving Rumble and Frenzy to the deck as Megatron fired first at Ravage, then over to Laserbeak. The blasts rent the air, crackling and burning ozone. Laserbeak shrieked again, then dove to the deck and swerved toward Ravage, flitting in and out of Megatron's blasts.

Turning with a snarl, Ravage skidded to a halt at the far side of the command deck, waiting.

Megatron's optics narrowed as he zeroed his sights in on Ravage.

Laserbeak dove, and Ravage leapt and transformed, reverting to his cassette mode in midair. Laserbeak's dive was perfect, and he snapped his beak around the Ravage's alt mode casing, catching him perfectly. Together they rose, Laserbeak blasting hard as he pushed them both up and into the access junctions of the _Nemesis_ and out toward freedom.

Megatron's canon blasted again, trailing their every movement.

Finally, Laserbeak twisted out of sight, disappearing as he pulled Ravage up and away, finally escaping and fleeing from the _Nemesis_ and the Decepticons. He pushed on, Ravage clutched in his small beak as he tore over the surging waves, his small engine whining its way toward the continent.

They had to find Soundwave… Or die trying.

Inside the _Nemesis _command deck, Starscream, having dove for cover as Megatron's shots fired wildly in pursuit of Laserbeak, rose from his protective huddle on the deck. His optics narrowed as he stood, his shoulders squaring off against Megatron. "Supreme firing, mighty Megatron," he sneered, his voice dripping with unconcealed ire. "You could have destroyed the ship!"

"Should we go after them?" Skywarp grunted, pushing himself up as well. He stood behind Starscream, glaring over his trinemate's wings.

Megatron didn't turn around. He stared after Laserbeak's flight, a cold grin on his lips. "Forget the Cassettes," Megatron hissed. His optics flashed down toward Rumble and Frenzy. "We have work to do back on Cybertron."

"And what of Soundwave?" Starscream snapped. "Are you going to just let him go? Let him betray his secrets to the Autobots? I _told_ you you should never have trusted that oversized malfunction!"

"Hey!" Rumble shouted, stepping forward. He frowned, automatically reacting to the insult to Soundwave. Frenzy reached for his arm, shaking his helm. It was Megatron's sharp glare, however, that swallowed the rest of Rumble's words. He stepped back, hands up.

Megatron finally turned to Starscream. "The traitor's fate is of no concern to me," Megatron said, speaking slowly, his voice rumbling. "He will perish with his Autobot lover, and with the rest of the planet, when we return."

"Return?"

"We are leaving Earth," Megatron said suddenly. His words were orders, barked out across the deck. "The next phase of our war begins on Cybertron! But do not fear." His optics roamed over the command deck, staring down his soldiers. "We will return… as conquerors."

* * *

It was night, or so Jazz thought. There were no windows, no chronometers, no lights, nothing at all in the brig, aside from the bars of their cells and the glow of their two visors: blue and red, soft shades of pulsing light that pushed against the darkness. The edges of the roughshod repair job Grapple and Hoist had cobbled together over the gaping maw that the Seekers had torn in the hull was barely visible. The room was uneven, torn apart and destroyed, then reconstructed out of barely-capable remnants to hold two single cells, locked up tight in the darkness.

_We're together,_ Jazz thought again, for the innumerable time. _We're together. _He was leaning up against the wall of his cell, his back to the bulkhead and his helm leaning sideways against the cold bars. _That's what matters._

"Jazz?" Soundwave's soft voice, barely a whisper, broke the darkness.

Jazz's helm shifted against the bars, the whisper of metal on metal overloud in the stillness of the brig. He turned, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything, but it didn't matter. Soundwave was right there, just inches away, leaning up against that same bulkhead on the other side. They were back to back, separated bare metal, and if their hands weren't shackled in front of their bodies, their fingers would be twined together through the bars.

"Yeah, Soundwave?" he whispered.

"Two point seven hours until dawn." Sounds shifted on his side of the cell, uneasy rustling.

Sighing, Jazz let his helm fall against the bars again. The heavy clang filled the brig, then faded to nothing. "What are you thinking about?" he whispered back.

Soundwave's response was immediate. "You."

Finally, Jazz smiled. "Me too."

"Jazz: thinking about Jazz?" Soundwave's humor, when it came, was subtle.

"No, thinking about you." Jazz smiled again. "Wish I could see you right now." Jazz swallowed. "Touch you."

"Agreed." Silence descended once again. "Jazz: thoughts on tomorrow?"

Another heavy sigh fell from Jazz's lips. His thoughts crashed together, running into each other with too many colors and sounds and feelings to comprehend. Soundwave and Prowl, the Autobots, the war, Prime, Megatron… Soundwave… _Prowl_…

"I don't know," he finally choked out. His emotions were swelling, different levels of rage rising within him. Rage at what was to come, rage at the world, rage at himself. It was too much, and it had all happened too fast. He was only trying to be help. He was only trying to love.

"Jazz: regrets?" Soundwave's words were still soft, but tinged with worry. "Regret decisions? Regret actions?"

"No." Jazz's voice exploded out of him with a rush of breath. "I regret everything else." His hands rose again, trying to encompass all of the universe. "The war, our factions, this life…" He shook his helm, looking down. "Do you regret anything?"

This time, it was Soundwave who sighed. A long silence followed. "Life: long," he finally said, his voice filled with static. "Choices equal moments. Numerous choices made within one life. Regrets…" His voice trailed off into silence. Regrets had only ever bred rage, and rage had bred hatred, a stewing, ragged hole that had ripped his spark from his body and kept him living on blackness alone. Regrets were dangerous things, terrible, dark things. There were too many choices made, in a lifetime, to regret every one.

"I only regret," Jazz began, his voice soft. "That we didn't get more time together." A dark, tiny part of Jazz's spark protested his statement, tossing up images of Prowl's face, smiling and happy, hovering above him, memories of their lovemaking, the feel of his lips on his own. The faces of the twins, burnt and scarred, thrown from the backs of Seekers, their sparks stopping in their chests. The smell of the dirt and the fog as Jazz chased Soundwave, and the feel of holding his rifle up to Prowl, and knowing that he would fire.

"Would have replaced much of this life with time with you," Soundwave agreed. Sounds of his shifting filled the darkness again, his movements on the other side of the bulkhead.

Jazz's optics dimmed, imaging his body, remembering the long lines of his legs and arms, the strength of Soundwave. A smile formed on his lips. "I remember the first time I saw you," he said, his voice slipping an octave. "I was on a recon mission identifying the Decepticon command forces in Kaon. I spotted you and Shockwave." He paused, frowning. "Funny, I can't remember what you were doing. All I remember is that you were there."

Soundwave's engine rumbled faintly at Jazz's words. "First image of you: captured by Laserbeak." Soundwave's throat closed on his last word, his spark surging at the mention of his second favored cassette. What had become of them, left alone on the _Nemesis_? Megatron must have dispatched them by now. He felt a swell of sadness in his spark. His feral cassettes had been a part of his life for so long, an extension of himself. He'd never meant to bring them harm.

"Stalker," Jazz quipped. He could almost hear the amusement in Soundwave's ragged exhale. He sighed as well. "I wish this war had never happened," Jazz whispered.

"War never occurred: would we have met?"

"I like to think so." It was only a fantasy, but Jazz had become adept at fantasy. In fantasy, anything could happen. They could love each other, despite their factions, carry on a secret tryst, plan for a new world that would rise up in glorious freedom and sunlight. Anything was possible in fantasy, even the two of them.

Fantasy, however, had become a twisted reality. "War never occurred: would not be the mechs we are."

"Are you happy with yourself? Happy with this life?

Their conversation had suddenly veered into untouchable and impenetrable territory. Soundwave froze, his dark spark screaming forth. His life had been terrible, dark and wretched, but it had been _his_. He had lived it as powerfully and as fully as he could have, and it had been the only life he'd ever known. Redemption had come at the eleventh hour, unasked for and unwelcome. It had been painful, in fact, to realize with a sudden clarity all that he had been lacking in his life. Jazz had revealed all of that, perfectly, to Soundwave's soul. Still, he'd made the choices he had made, and if he'd had to do it all over again, he wasn't certain he'd change a single moment. "This life…" Soundwave began. "Only one to be lived."

Jazz recognized the darkness underlying Soundwave's vocalizer. He'd heard that tone before, that darkness in Soundwave's words. It had been in his voice when he had confronted Jazz, ready to die, ready to give up his life, and when Jazz had seen, finally perfectly _seen_, Soundwave. It was the voice of a mech who knew the price they had to pay.

"I know that you've… done things," Jazz began. He swallowed, pushing back against that rising swell of his spark, throwing his own actions into his face. He ignored it, focusing instead on what he knew of Soundwave's military record, remembering every interaction they'd had across the battlefield, every spy versus spy encounter. How he'd _hated_ him so, so long ago. "I want you to know that that doesn't matter to me. I _know_ who you are, Soundwave. I know what you're capable of, and I know what you hold close." Jazz swallowed again. "We all have a past," he forced out, his own memories and actions playing again through his helm. "We all have darkness." He'd known that Soundwave had his darkness, his past, his terrible, horrible secrets. What he'd never expected had been his soul, so fragile and yet strong, yearning for so _much_ more, and his love. It was as unexpected as anything, and had fractured his whole world apart.

"Jazz: much personal history heard in Tribunal," Soundwave finally replied, his vocalizer ragged. Soundwave held no illusions as to the extent the tribunal would go. The well of rage and despair that Prowl was pulling from was well familiar to Soundwave. He'd seen the edges of that hatred, that malice, in Prowl's optics as they had made their escape from the caverns. There was no limit, none, that Prowl would stop at, no end to his pursuit of vengeance.

For once, Soundwave felt a kinship with the Autobot.

"I know," Jazz choked out, his vocalize barely functioning. His spark was screaming, but not at Soundwave.

"Past actions inferior to magnitude of affections," Soundwave said, the bare edge of pleading circling his words.

"I know," Jazz choked out again, forcing his words through static. He nodded, his optics blazing nearly white-bright and tried to stop the trembling that had settled over his hands. It was threatening to climb up his body, take over his arms, shake apart his whole self. It was fear, terror, darkness, and mortal sin, all rolled together. It was the unknown, yawning before him. It was helplessness, hopelessness, and ten different kinds of tragedy. It was remorse, regret, and recrimination. It was all those things, and so much more.

Silence fell over the brig again, thick and heavy. Soundwave sat with his own hesitations, his own fears and doubts, each one focused on Jazz, each one focused on certain rejection, a certain casting-aside as the curtain was pulled, and the revelation of all that he was came out into the open. He'd not wanted Jazz to know the depth of his soul, the dark caverns of his past. It was too much, poisonous and evil. He was trying to change, trying to be more, trying to rise out of his past, but still, it chained him back. There was no escaping it now. He would be revealed.

Jazz, too, sat with his darkness and his sins. His darkest sin, his deepest sin was far, far too personal. It was far too painful to consider, to remember, to even think on, and he refused to do so. Instead, anger poured into all the spaces where he pushed his dark sins aside, rage at everything he couldn't control, couldn't make right. Rage at the world. Rage at the universe. Rage at Prowl, at Prime, at Megatron, and at everything that kept him from his life and his love. Rage was easy, and pure. So simple, the fall into rage.

It burned within him for the rest of the night, pushing his darkest terror away.

* * *

Dawn came, as it always did, and with it, Sideswipe's silent rise from his berth. His dreams had been filled with thoughts of Prowl, of memories and fantasies and dark nightmares. He was trying to reach him, always trying to reach him, but he never could. Prowl spun away every time.

Sideswipe shook his helm, trying to shake the recharge away as his optics slowly onlined. He rolled his neck, stretching, and pushed himself to his feet. His optics adjusted themselves to the low light of his early morning quarters, and as he caught sight of his brother's berth just across from his, he froze.

There, lying on the berth as if they were lovers, or even, deeply in love, were Sunstreaker and Bluestreak. Sideswipe's mouth dropped open at the sight. Sunstreaker's arms were wrapped around Bluestreak tenderly, cradling him close, and his lips and chin were pressed against Buestreak's chevron and the side of his helm. Bluestreak's hands clung at Sunstreaker's arms, gripping him as if he were the last thing in Bluestreak's universe. His face was twisted, frightened, and his doorwings hung low and flat against the berth.

Sideswipe crept forward, peering at his brother. The last he'd known they were broken up, Sunstreaker's spark was bruised, Bluestreak was angry and confrontational, and there was no going back.

_Seems like something's changed_, Sideswipe thought, snorting. He shook his helm and started to turn away when a noise from the berth stilled his actions.

Bluestreak grunted, then shifted, his expression contorting into a frightened grimace. Bluestreak whimpered and his fingers clenched down hard, scrapping over Sunstreaker's armor.

Sideswipe gapped at the display, not used to seeing Bluestreak as anything other than the talkative, rash, and bold young mech with a quicksilver smile and flashing optics.

Sunstreaker stirred at Bluestreak's movements, onlining as he had all through the night at each of Bluestreak's nightmares. His optics flickered as he pulled himself from recharge. One hand cupped the back of Bluestreak's helm, stroking down over the grey playing gently as his lips pressed against his chevron. He murmured soft sounds of nothing as he tried to calm Bluestreak from his nightmare.

Sideswipe couldn't move. This was a Sunstreaker he'd only ever seen rarely, the Sunstreaker that he hid away, deep down inside himself. Primus, what had happened? This wasn't the Bluestreak he'd ever seen, ever known.

Then again, everything was different these days. Jazz was a traitor, Prowl was mad with rage, and now Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were huddled together in the darkness, loving touches and gentle kisses between them.

Sunstreaker's optics flickered again, and he caught sight of Sideswipe hovering in the space between their berths. Bluestreak whimpered, shivering, and Sunstreaker quieted him once more, another gentle kiss pressed against his helm.

"What's _up_?" Sideswipe asked, disbelief in his whisper. "What's going on?"

Sunstreaker shushed Bluestreak's whimpers again with a kiss. He swallowed, the rise and fall of his throat slow and cast in shadow. Optics dim, he shook his helm, staring back at Sideswipe. "I couldn't leave him," Sunstreaker whispered, his vocalizer throaty and edged in static.

"What happened?" Sideswipe's whispers were still incredulous.

Bluestreak's whimper finally exploded into a full-body shake, terrible and frightened. "No!" Bluestreak shouted, trembling. His hands clamped down, digging into Sunstreaker's arms. "Please, no!"

"Shhhh, shhh…" Sunstreaker whispered, pressing kisses against Bluestreak's helm and trailing down to his face. "Shhh, I'm here. I'm here."

Stunned, Sideswipe stared. Nothing was the same, not anymore. He slipped out of their quarters to the sounds of Bluestreak's whimpers and Sunstreaker's quiet comfort.

He padded down the empty _Ark _corridors, confusion in his helm until he arrived at Prowl's office. Unlike yesterday, there wasn't any blaring, deafening operatic music booming from within. It was silent, eerily so. Sideswipe's fingers tapped against the door, soft patterns dancing over the metal surface. He didn't know what to expect.

"Come!" Prowl's deep voice barked from within his office, strong and steady. Sideswipe inhaled before he palmed his way in, dragging his hand over the sensor as the doors slid open. Inside, Prowl was at his desk, datapads held in one hand as he shuffled trough the monitors and displays on his desktop and referenced the databank terminals on his wall every other moment. He didn't spare a glance to Sideswipe as he entered his office.

"Hey." Sideswipe's greeting was soft as he moved to Prowl's desk, stopping just before the chaos. "Good morning."

"Is it morning already?" Prowl's words were gruff.

"Yep." Sideswipe shifted, his hands wringing together in front of him. Funny, where had all that confidence from yesterday gone, that striding to Prowl's office to declare his eternal affection and unending love? Here he was, choked vocalizer and shifting feet. "How-how are you?"

"Busy." Prowl didn't look up.

"Can I help?" Sideswipe stepped forward, bold.

"No."

"Let me help?" Sideswipe stepped forward again, stopping at the edge of Prowl's desk.

Finally, Prowl looked at Sideswipe, pausing in his hustle. His optics were burning, an indigo darkness that rocked Sideswipe to the core. Silence held for a long moment.

Prowl held out his handful of data pads. "Carry these," he grunted before turning back to the terminal monitors.

Sideswipe accepted the data pads wordlessly. Each contained an outline of Soundwave's military history and the Autobot espionage data on the Decepticon spy and officer. History upon history, mission upon mission, all in an unending data flow. It was impressive, the amount of data they had on Soundwave. Had Prowl been here all night?

Suddenly, Prowl was moving, turning off his monitors and grabbing one last lonely data pad off the edge of his desk before striding out of his office in a storm of motion. Doorwings spread wide, Prowl's body cut off the light that blazed into his office from the corridor, casting his body into darkness and shadow as he marched out. Sideswipe ran to follow, juggling the data pads awkwardly, and padded behind Prowl's quick and silent pace to the Rec Room.

Prowl's fingers curled around the single data pad he clutched in his hands, tensing the frame and bending the metal casing.

They nearly made it to the Rec Room, but just as Prowl rounded the corner, Rec Room doors in sight, Red Alert appeared as well, stepping off the lift at the opposite end of the corridor. With him were Ironhide and Hound, heavily armed and bracketing either side of the shackled and shuffling bodies of Jazz and Soundwave.

Red Alert's optics met Prowl's, hard. They were edged with pain, and he broke optic contact as he motioned for Ironhide and Hound to lead the prisoners forward. Jazz and Soundwave shuffled forward again, their movements slow with the cuffs binding their wrists together and the chains wrapped around their feet.

Prowl froze, a sharp intake of breath, and his doorwings flared wide. Sideswipe wasn't prepared for Prowl's sudden stop and he walked into him, bouncing back a half step. Prowl didn't react.

"You alright?" Sideswipe whispered, his hand gently reaching for Prowl's shoulder.

It was as if the spell was broken. Prowl turned, whipping around, staring at Sideswipe with wide optics edged in a wildness that hadn't been there before. Red Alert continued marching the prisoners forward, leading them to the Rec Room over Prowl's shoulder, but Prowl didn't turn around. He couldn't. He stared instead into Sideswipe's optics, searching their depths.

As the Rec Room doors slid open, Prowl inhaled, his vents shaking, doorwings trembling. Sideswipe watched Soundwave and Jazz disappear into the Rec Room, then nodded once to Prowl. Finally, Prowl exhaled, his doorwings wilting. Sideswipe's hand, still resting on Prowl's shoulder, squeezed.

Prowl fought for his words, his hands clenched too-tight around the data pad in his grip. His lips pressed together, his jaw clenching, and finally he whispered, "I'm glad you came."

Sideswipe smiled back, small. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nodding, Prowl broke optic contact and held out his hand for the data pads Sideswipe had carried down. Sideswipe handed them over silently and Prowl swallowed as he piled them all together, one on top of the other, making the data pads perfectly, obsessively straight. "Let's go," Prowl grunted, grasping his stack until his hands shook.

The Rec Room had been converted into a makeshift tribunal hall. Almost all the tables had been cleared, all the chairs removed. At the far end of the long room, three stations had been set up on makeshift daises', the seated heads for the officers overseeing. Before the dais, two X's had been marked on the floor, roughly etched with spray paint in uneven, harsh lines. Another arching line stood behind the markings, a large space that separated the prisoners from the observers. The crew congregated behind the spray-painted arch, clustered in small groups with wide optics and hushed, whispered words of tense disbelief.

Red Alert led the prisoners to their positions, depositing Soundwave on the left marking and Jazz on the right. Ironhide and Hound flanked them both, weapons trained on their every tiny movement.

Sideswipe and Prowl hung back, watching the unease spike throughout the room, watching and listening to the shock and hesitation in the crew.

Soundwave and Jazz stared straight ahead, not moving.

Prowl nodded once and pushed forward, striding through the crew. They parted in waves before him, though optics slid to his face before sliding away, unable to look. Prowl continued on, brushing the crew aside and pushing ahead, past and between Soundwave and Jazz to the front dais. Prime and Red Alert were waiting for him, their optics unreadable as Prowl took his place at his station.

Sideswipe slipped into the mass of the crew, pushing his way past the Aerialbots and past Skyfire, and finally sliding into place next to his brother. Sunstreaker glanced his way once, his jaw clenched tight. Next to Sunstreaker was Bluestreak, all tense angles and trembling plating. His hand was wound through Sunstreaker's, fingers clenched too-tight.

Prowl set his data pads down and spread them carefully on his table. He set one aside, all alone and pushed to the upper corner. Prime watched Prowl for a moment before he stood, his hands braced on his station as if it were the only thing supporting him any longer. He inhaled, sighing, then spoke.

"This tribunal begins now."

* * *

The opening statements were short. Red Alert read aloud the charges – crimes of war, crimes against Cybertron, treason, genocide, homicide, attacking superior officers, attempted murder, providing aid and comfort to the enemy in a time of war, conspiracy. Each item was a shot to the spark, a flinch for every mech. Some of the charges were not for Jazz. Genocide, for one, and the crimes against Cybertron. Homicide. Those were for Soundwave exclusively, but Jazz's duplicity and conspiracy, his allegiance with Soundwave, still tore through every mechs' spark.

Prime spoke next, declaring this a solemn, somber occasion, one that grieved them all. He couldn't look at Jazz or at Soundwave, and instead let his optics drift over the crew, staring at their strained and frightened optics. What would become of this, he wondered. The need for justice was palpable, the fear of the unknown equally so.

Finally, it was time to proceed with the questioning. Prime had taken the responsibility of questioning Jazz from Prowl's purview, and had spent the night pouring through the evidence against Jazz. His comms, his entry and exits from the _Ark_, the statements from Ratchet, from Sunstreaker, from Sideswipe. The reports of Jazz's flight, his declaration and devotion to Soundwave. All the ways that Jazz had passed intelligence on to the Decepticons. All the holes they now had to deal with, and not just in their files, but in their souls. He didn't know where to begin, but when he finally looked at Jazz for the first time, all he could see was his former officer and one of his closest friends, shackled and bound and standing so defiant. His words caught in his throat, his gears clenching.

"Jazz, how do you plead to the charges you face?" Prime forced out. It was a formality of the process, and he looked down at his notes, waiting for Jazz's answer.

"Guilty."

A shocked hush flashed through the room, words bitten off roughly in swallows and gasps. All optics trained to Jazz as Prime looked up, staring at his former officer silently. "Jazz, how do you plead?"

"Guilty," Jazz repeated, his voice not nearly as strong as before. It wavered slightly, breathless on the edges. Nodding, Jazz swallowed. "Guilty. I'm not fighting this." He swallowed again, squaring his shoulders. "I made my choices."

Silence filled the Rec Room as Prime held Jazz's stare. Finally, he turned to Red Alert. "Record the accused's answer in the record," he grunted. "Proceedings against Jazz are closed." Prime turned to Prowl, studiously avoiding looking at Jazz. "Proceedings against Soundwave will now begin."

For a moment, Prowl hesitated. He wasn't ready for this yet, wasn't ready to face Soundwave so soon. He'd expected Jazz's proceedings to take at least half a day, to wrangle back and forth with actions and reasonings and timelines. His helm rocketed upward, staring at Soundwave, and everything else suddenly fell away.

It was just the two of them as he strode forward, walking around his station with his fingers dragging across the surface, optics holding fast, burning as they stared each other down. Prowl stopped at the edge of the dais as he plucked one of his carefully-laid data pads from his pile.

In one motion, one moment, one flick of his helm, Prowl's optics flashed back to Soundwave, their gazes locking together. His footfalls filled the Rec Room as he walked to Soundwave, staring the larger Decepticon down. Nothing else existed, nothing at all, save for the intensity of their optics and the charge between their bodies.

"Soundwave," Prowl began, stopping in front of Soundwave's bound and shackled body. His doorwings settled wide on his back, flaring outward, his shoulders broad and set. "How do you plead?"

Soundwave never looked away. "Not guilty."

Prowl's helm tipped the slightest, tilting just so to the side. He'd expected nothing less. "Then let's begin, shall we?" He onlined the data pad and glanced down, staring over the military history he knew by spark. "You onlined in Kaon, during the Mineral Cabal, is this correct?"

"Affirmative."

"You grew up in the industrial sector of District 19, an indentured worker of the Cabal's mining and drilling conglomerate?"

Soundwave's voice deepened, his gear's tightening. "Affirmative."

"Before you reached the age of maturity, before you even became a _mech_," Prowl's words were laced with scorn as he pressed on, barely giving Soundwave time to answer at all, "you had already established quite the criminal record, hadn't you?" Soundwave was silent, his visor darkening. "We have an extensive database, Soundwave," Prowl said, breaking the silence. "Our archives go back a long, _long_ time."

Soundwave looked away. A hushed whisper curled through the crew.

"Your first arrest was for petty theft, stealing from the sector station where you were assigned. You were docked rations for that incident, but you stole again, and this time you received ten shocks for your actions. Is this correct?"

Soundwave's gears ground together, his jaw clenching.

"It seems that no punishment got through to your processor, though, Soundwave, as your record continues on. Theft, insubordination, dereliction, desertion." Prowl looked up, staring Soundwave down as he pressed forward. "You lost an optic for your crimes. And then, after the unification, your criminal pursuits became more sophisticated." Prowl's voice and his slow, clipped footfalls, were the only sound at all filling the Rec Room. All noises had ceased, the mechs barely breathing. Prowl slowly circled Soundwave, his heels echoing. "After Unification, you became an insurgent."

Soundwave's helm tracked Prowl, their optics locked together, hot.

Prowl pressed on. Soundwave's silence was his affirmation. "You deserted your sector and deserted your conglomerate, then took up arms with a rag-tag group of insurgents in the Waste Sector, led by another deserter, until you took over leadership. Your attacks were amateurish, at first." Prowl completed another circuit around Soundwave, stopping before the Decepticon. "Pipe bombs that wouldn't explode, sabotage that failed itself half the time. You were just enough to be irritating."

Soundwave's optics blazed beneath his visor. His hands curled into fists, and he could feel the urge to lunge, to tear into Prowl physically, roaring through his spark.

"All that changed, however," Prowl said, starting another circuit around Soundwave. "Your attacks were enough to cause the mechs of Kaon to notice. They were enough to cause unrest. Rumors started, then dissension. Mechs flooded to join your ragged rebellion." Prowl's circuit completed again, and this time, he stepped close to Soundwave, pinning him back with his optics as his vocalizer dropped, grinding over his next words. The temperature plunged throughout the Rec Room. "Your rebellion became a terrorist movement. And you…" Prowl's optics burned into Soundwave's, holding him hostage. "You are a mass murderer."

"Autobot deceptions!" Soundwave roared. "Your records: false!"

"Do you deny any of your history?" Prowl barked, pressing against Soundwave. "Do you deny any of your past?" He held his data pad up, the evidence within of Soundwave's records.

""Past actions: accurate," Soundwave ground out, not backing down.

"Do you deny you were a triggerman?" Prowl pushed on, his voice rising. He would make Soundwave pay for his crimes. Soundwave had so much to answer for, and he would see his judgment.

"Negative-" Soundwave started.

Prowl cut him off, speaking over him, nearly shouting. "Do you deny you were the triggerman for the increasing attacks of the terrorists? That it was you who armed the bombings and set off the explosions?"

"Negative-"

"Do you deny that you appealed to join Megatron and, in fact, were promoted, when Megatron took over your insurgency?"

"Negative-" Soundwave's visor was burning, his jaw clenched fiercely, and his shackled hands were shaking. Rage coursed through his every line, shredding his crumbling restraint.

"And do you deny that it was you who was the triggerman for one very specialoperation?" Prowl strode forward, a vengeful mech with memories burning at his heels, sounds of screams and the scent of destruction playing through his processor. "Do you deny it?" Prowl shouted, pushing into Soundwave's face.

"Negative," Soundwave ground out through clenched and gritted denta. His own memoires had risen, bursting forth from the darkness of his being, screaming for absolution. Prowl's cold recitation of the facts of his life had touched on his deepest, raw line, exposing the fragility of his history.

It was all so, so much _different_, in reality. Everything was, always. "Denial: none." Soundwave's words were too deep, shaking with black rage. "Your story: _incomplete_."

Sideswipe hissed as he bounced on his feet. His optics were fixed to Prowl, carefully watching his every movement. The mechs around him were transfixed by the testimony, hanging onto the bitter, feuding words, but all Sideswipe could see was Prowl and his spiraling descent into a dark wilderness. It seemed that no one, no one at all, could see how deep Prowl's despair had sunk, how finely sharpened his despair and rage.

Then again, Sideswipe had become an expert in watching Prowl.

"This is no _story_," Prowl growled. "This is fact. This is history."

"Life: more complicated than facts," Soundwave growled.

"You're nothing but a _criminal_, Soundwave!" Hatred coursed through Prowl, frame-deep, energon-hot. Nothing remained but the burning need to destroy.

"Prowl…" Prime's warning was too quiet.

"Autobots will never understand!" Soundwave's chains creaked as his arms trembled, unshed power stifled by his restraints.

"You are nothing but a _criminal_, and a _murderer,_ and your delusions of freedom fighting and fantasies of rebellion were _nothing_ but a cover for your crimes and your genocide!" Prowl pushed forward, his words rising until he was bellowing into Soundwave's face, lubricants spitting from his mouth.

Soundwave's engine roared, his visor flashing, and he took one step forward to face down Prowl.

All at once, Hound and Ironhide's rifles were at Soundwave's helm, humming with charge and ready to fire. Ironhide's finger twisted, half pressing down on the trigger. He grunted, a half-breathed gust of air escaping his vents.

Sideswipe moved on instinct, jumping forward, but the crew was a mass of immobile mechs, and they blocked his gut-instinct lunge to Prowl. He cursed, helplessly watching from behind, begging silently for Prowl's spark.

"Do it," Prowl whispered, staring up into Soundwave's face. Their optics were inches apart, blazing. "I know you want to kill me. What's one more murder in a lifetime of _thousands_?" He held Soundwave's gaze, not moving.

It was Soundwave who finally stepped back. "That life: no longer mine."

"You cannot escape what you've done." Prowl didn't move.

"Prowl: will never understand."

"You're right. I can't. But indulge me anyway."

For a moment, Soundwave didn't answer, instead glaring at Prowl. Should he bother? Should he bother at all with revealing his past? He'd bottled it up, pushed it away, buried so deep down in the blackness of his spark that it had turned in on itself, diseased and morbid. He had pushed it away, wanting nothing to do with the darkness of his past, and yet… it was that which had made him the mech he was, the purpose behind his every desire, his every action. Who was he, in absence of what he had done? Who had he become, if not the mech who had made those choices, lived through that past? A kaleidoscope of memories, of half-remembered dreams and yearnings, a swirl of the past and all of the rage that shaped his existence streaked through his spark, a whirlwind of everything that he was. It all centered around Jazz, suspended within the center of his spark, his love the most fragile dream of all. What else was there to do, but to live?

Soundwave's words, when they came, were fractured and halting, pushing out from the deepest part of himself. Bitterness underlay every sound, every syllable imbued with cold rage. Anguish lingered in his silences. He held Prowl's scathing stare through every single word.

"Soundwave: onlined in ashes of defeat and corruption, plunged into world of darkness and terror." He inhaled, the memories suddenly too-sharp, and he let himself fall back into his black soul. "Onlined in midst of Kaon civil war. Mineral Cabal: overlords of entire southern subcontinent. Conglomerates of manufacturing and industry formed cartels, fixing the prices of energon and commodities to the North." Soundwave's optics flashed to Prowl, seeing only Northern excess and the obsessive greed that had driven the Cabal to such extremes. "Kaon: center of civil war. Cabal seized control from former kingdoms, former principalities. _Modernization_." Scorn dripped from his lips. "Slavery. 'Indentured servitude' with no term limit, no means of escape. Younglings seized from families and taken to the mines, forced to work for nothing." Soundwave's vocalizer shook as he spoke. "Prowl:" he asked, tilting his helm slightly. "Ever experienced an energon mine?"

"This isn't about me," Prowl growled. His doorwings flicked upward, faintly.

"Energon mines: dark," Soundwave's optics dimmed behind his visor. "Darkness eclipses sense of time. Time: inconsequential. Work exists. Nothing exists." He could still smell the burning air, the choked dust that filled his vents, and the burning numbness of his small, undergrown hands, forced to dig bare when the tools were too heavy for his use. He inhaled, half expecting to choke on the fumes that were tickling his vents, if only through memory. If he swallowed, he was sure to taste the grit of exploded metal, the bitter tang of the still-burning explosives that burrowed through the planet, hunting for the veins of acrid, raw energon. It had been breathtaking and beautiful, as beautiful as Jazz's smile, when they found an untapped vein, and equally disastrous, dangerous. How many others had died down in the darkness, when he had escaped?

"Where is the relevance of this story, Soundwave?" Prowl's optics burned into Soundwave's, relentless with their wrath.

"Energon mining: provides fuel for sustenance rarely. Energon: at fingertips. None to ingest." Soundwave's tanks still remembered aching, still remembered the gnawing emptiness and screaming pain at needing to be fueled, the slow systems shut down as he slid into the darkness of power failure and the bellowing shouts of the overseers to press on, to continue working. It had been his last hope, his last option, to snatch the cube from the guard when he wasn't looking. It had gotten him through, once, and he'd learned what he'd had to do. "Starvation: constant companion," Soundwave growled. "Theft: only way to survive."

Prowl was silent, staring Soundwave down. Not a mech was moving, not even a servo, not a breath escaping in the silence. Prime watched from his seat at the head dais, Red Alert bracketing his side. The world had been reduced to the forms of Prowl and Soundwave, and storms broke between and amongst them. Not a mech dared to intervene, not even Sideswipe.

"That excuse only goes so far, Soundwave. Unification happened, and it stopped the mechs' rights abuses. Except…" Prowl's helm tilted again, and small, mocking smile stained his expression. "You chose to work against the forces for change, didn't you?"

"Unification." Soundwave's engine growled, matching the sudden undercurrent of unshed anger in his vocalizer. "Made world _worse_."

Prowl scoffed and turned away.

Soundwave pressed on, his vocalizer rising. "Kaon: not ready for unification. Praxus: believed Unification would solve all planetary problems." Soundwave growled, his engine roaring again. "Praxus: no knowledge of the south. Of Kaon."

Prowl spun, his optics blazing. "Unification brought a _single_ system, a _united_ system of political action, of justice, and a set judicial code to the entire planet! Unification brought together all the competing city-states and united the economies! Unification was supposed to erase war, bringing everyone together! Unification would have solved everything!"

"Unification: successful?" This time, it was Soundwave's helm that turned, tilting slightly as he stared back at Prowl.

"Whose fault is that?" Prowl growled.

Murmurs from the crowd chimed in, echoing Prowl's scathing retort. Not many southerners in this crowd, or in the Autobots as a whole. The sympathies lay elsewhere. For most mechs present, though, Prowl and Soundwave argued over practically ancient history. Only they had any claim to personal memory in the madness of the past.

"Unification: legitimized Kaon government. Solidified Cabals. Aristocratic dictums and notions of Praxus: never applied to Kaon. Unification: useless, strutless exercise in empowerment of northern city-states." Soundwave paused, letting his words fall around the room. "Of _Praxus_," he added, spitting the word at Prowl. His spark roared, satisfaction streaking outward as he watched Prowl erupt.

"Sight of Prowl:," Soundwave began, his energon surging white-hot. "Memories of Praxus. Self-conceited arrogance. Deceit. _Waste_."

Prowl whirled on Soundwave with raging optics. A rush of inhaled, gasping air swept through the Rec Room.

"Praxus: fantasy ideations ignorant of starving youngling miners in decrepit mines."

To Prowl's credit, he didn't demand Ironhide's rifle to finish Soundwave once and for all. Ironhide, by the looks of his expression, would have gladly handed his rifle over, or would have done the job himself with even the slightest bit of encouragement at all. Instead, heavy silence, palpable and wrought with dread, clung to the room, waiting for the next moment to unfold.

Licking his lips, Prowl straightened his shoulders, letting his doorwings flare wide. He inhaled, rolling his helm, and seemed to draw the dark curtain tighter around himself. It was a bare knife-edge of control he balanced upon, but the rage Soundwave's words had stoked was a maelstrom of bitter hatred. He stepped forward, once again standing before Soundwave. "The energon shortage did not stem from Praxus." His voice had dropped, too controlled.

"In practice," Soundwave countered. "Unification: eliminated trade balances between North and Southern subcontinents. Energon: meant to flow rapidly. Instead: energon markets manipulated." Soundwave paused, watching the play of Prowl's optics, seeing their faint narrowing around the edges. "Energon mines: worked harder than before. Exports: dropped to minimum levels. Prices: skyrocketed." Too bad none of the profit had extended to the slaves who worked to servo-lock and death in the darkness and depth of the planet. Soundwave had been caught between a youngling and a mech, stuck in the darkness of the mines and his life, with only the knowledge of hunger and hate to guide his existence. "First Unification War: Praxus' need for energon."

"Kaon was hoarding the energon. You just confirmed it." Prowl sounded victorious. "Thousands of lives depended on that energon. Kaon was gambling with the fate of the entire planet."

Again, murmurs from the crew rose and fell, a grunting agreement with the prosecution. Memories of energon shortages and the dark, hesitant days before the war were strong in some mechs, distant in others. Sideswipe had been young then, only briefly remembering the tensions around. How interesting, the landscape of one's life as it was overlaid onto another. His memories of smaller portions of energon as a youngling mixed with Prowl and Soundwave's private war of memories.

"Northern solution: invasion." Soundwave still remembered the days of huddling in the darkness in the mines, left there when the Cabal and the cartels had fled, retreating to their hideouts as they holed up the slaves in the mines. There had been planet-shaking explosions, cave ins, the sounds of the Pit itself unleashed upon the surface, sub-terrainean fires, and the constant, cavernous fear of not knowing a slagging thing that was happening. What was happening to their world? What would become of them? For a time, he'd thought that they were dead, or dying, and somehow the whole process of dying had become as tortured and lengthy as the darkness of their lives. Or perhaps, it was a quick death, one he couldn't remember, and they were stuck in the Pit. The smoke still choked his vents, the smell of burning bodies and collapsed mine shafts, of smelting metal and vaporized minerals mixed with the grit of smoke and the splinters of raw energon crystals, always stabbing at his plating.

And, in the end, when the mines had been discovered, Parliamentary soldiers excavating what they thought was a sinkhole, a whole new world had caved in upon them.

"Unification was going to happen, no matter the corruption and manipulation of a few recalcitrant city-states," Prowl snarled. He snorted, glaring at Soundwave. "One moment you decry the Cartels, and the next, accuse the North of bringing down their regime. Which way do you want it, Soundwave?" His words were harsh. "Unification rescued your Kaon from the Cartels."

"Negative!" Soundwave shouted, finally losing his grip. His hands clenched together, fists forming to rattle the chains and shackles around his wrists. "Unification: rushed! Legitimized Kaon governance!" Suddenly, overnight, Kaon politicians had gone from brutal thugs and businessmechs to governmental officials recognized by Iacon. Lord Straxus, whom Soundwave had known before his self-appointed Lordship, had graced the halls of Iacon as a representative of Kaon, speaking with acuity of new worlds and trade agreements, a silver-glossa'd mech of culture, holding high his dainty cruet of high grade energon as his plating shone, flashing with richness. Only a year prior, it had been he who had punished Soundwave for his escape attempt, a desperate, starving flight of panic. Soundwave gasped as the memories flooded in: hands, grasping his arms, twisting them backward. Punches to his face, his jaw, a kick to his backstruts. Straxus' slow footfalls forward, then the cold grasp of his chin as he was pulled up. The energon blade, as it slid up his cheek arch, to his optic.

Soundwave's voice was ragged, darkened with history and memory and consequence when he spoke again. "Unification: legitimized brutalities of governments." His visor burned into Prowl's guarded, narrowed optics. "Iacon and Praxus: reaped what was sowed."

"No, Soundwave," Prowl said slowly, shaking his helm. He lifted his chin, helm held high, doorwings spread wide. "We outlawed the slavery, hunted down the criminals. Unification spread the sovereignty of civilization to your South." His lip curled as he finished, almost spitting out the words.

"Parliament: more corrupt than Kaon," Soundwave growled. "One master traded for another-" Soundwave tried to continue, but Prowl cut him off.

"You know, that was the problem," Prowl strode forward, pushing close to Soundwave. "You couldn't just be grateful that the oppression had been overthrown, that the corruption was gone, and that you were freed from slavery. It was always _more_, always wanting more." Prowl's vents came hard, panting. His own memories were crashing through, unwanted, dark nightmares that he had tried to hold back for a lifetime. Flashes of battles and screams and always, _always,_ explosions echoed in his processor. "Do you know what it cost to free you?" His words were hot breaths, so close they exploded over Soundwave's face.

Sideswipe froze, hearing between Prowl's words, between his breaths. He'd thought they had been rumors, so long ago, rumors of Prowl's past. His spark plummeted.

"Single desire: freedom," Soundwave whispered. "_Own _destinies. _Own_ choices."

Prowl inhaled sharply, turning away before he broke and flew apart.

Soundwave continued, pressing his words into Prowl's back as Prowl walked back to his station, collecting himself. "Occupation: worse than slavery. Slavery: predictable. Occupation: chaos. Supposed to be grateful and grovel at the pedes of Parliamentary soldiers. Status: refugees-" Soundwave's voice wavered, his hands clenching to fists once more. "Refugees in own homeland. _Nothing_ remained. Only destruction."

Prowl didn't turn around when he spoke. Memories were flashing through his processor, his optics dim, near dark, as he gripped the edge of his station's table. "We could have repaired everything, together," he growled. "We could have fixed everything, but you never gave it a chance."

"That option: unacceptable." Soundwave swallowed, staring at Prowl's helm. "Live as slaves to North or take control: fight." His optics burned. "Death and destruction: everywhere. Nothing operational. No energon, no power, no water, no fuel. No _hope_. No _future_."

The occupation, when it had begun, had been full of triumphant victory, widespread plans of change and vast designs for improvement. Slowly, that dream began spinning out of control as reality set in, and the elusiveness of victory, the day-to-day management of a hostile subcontinent of refugees, clamoring for everything they'd never, ever had, and the complete overwhelming inability to provide for every one of their needs, had settled into the sparks and processors of those noble dreamers who had arrived. So full of promise, it had started, and so quickly, descended into death, devastation, and broken, fitful dreams.

"The choice:" Soundwave continued. "Take _back _our lives. Take _back_ future."

He hadn't thought it would be this hard. Prowl hadn't thought confronting Soundwave would be this fragging difficult. It should have been easy, tearing his lies apart and reducing him to nothing, shredding the lies of his glorious, rebellious past. He hadn't expected this, though, the memories that wouldn't die. He'd thought he'd dealt with all of this, all of his past. The memories cut too-sharp, too-bitter, the smells of the occupation and the bombs, the explosive gases, the cutting edges of shrapnel as bomb blasts shrieked over his body, cutting across his plating. He squeezed his optics shut, trying to block out the memories. That couldn't stop the screaming, however. _Over here! Down, down, down! Contact! Insurgents!_

"You _chose_ to wage war," Prowl finally said, forcing himself to turn around. "You _chose _to wage a terrorist war."

"Chose: freedom. Fought to rid Kaon of occupation Of Parliament corruption." Soundwave swallowed, holding Prowl's gaze.

Prime interrupted, his voice firm. "The former Parliament's actions and government are not on trial here."

"Parliament: must be on trial," Soundwave growled back. His visor flared toward Prowl. "Parliament corruption bred rebellion and insurgency, created climate for continued manipulation and corruption. Parliament: disease of Cybertronian civilization."

"Parliament has already been dealt with, Soundwave," Prime interjected again, speaking quickly.

Prowl was deathly silent, staring back at Soundwave.

"You may have conveniently forgot, but the Autobots formed in response to Parliament's exposed corruption. We were trying to build a new world, one you could have joined." Prime sighed, the memories stretching too-long in his processor.

_We fought Parliament too!_ Jazz's words had been urgent, trying to reach for some common ground as they had argued in the grove, months ago. _Difference,_ Soundwave had answered, _between fighting for ideals and fighting for freedom._

"Shared guilt exists: mechs who fought for Parliament." Soundwave's gaze hardened, flaring white-bright at the edges of his visor as he fixed his optics to Prowl.

"There was an opportunity, Soundwave, for reconciliation" Prime tried again. "The insurgents' answer was devastating."

Prowl's vents heaved as the memories grew, eclipsing the Rec Room surrounding him. Soundwave glared back, never backing down. The battlefield was right there, between the two of them, history and memories and wars and bombings exploding between their gazes. Prowl, a young soldier, an enforcer in Kaon, working to subdue the insurgency and the uprising, and Soundwave, refusing to give in, refusing to give up, fighting for a future of freedom he'd never, ever known. He was a spitfire mech with hatred in his lines and a spark full of black revenge, hating everything that tried to control him and control his actions. It had made perfect sense to fight back, to attack against the invaders. Prowl, and all those with him, everything he represented, had been the enemy.

"Every action you made: we destroyed," Soundwave said, his voice hollow and far-off, spoken with a revolutionary's air. "You rebuilt the powergrid: we destroyed the lines. You salvaged the Parliamentary outpost: we bombed the Halls. You set up trade and exchange: we obliterated the market place and the merchandise. Everything you did: we undid."

"For _what_?" Prowl hissed. His optics flashed. "For what?"

"It was _ours_ to do! Ours!" Soundwave was shouting now, his insurgent passion blazing as he stared at Prowl. He wasn't seeing Prowl, the Autobot, any longer. It was Prowl, the Parliamentary Enforcer, wearing the old sigil and the emblazoned designation of the occupation, falling from out his memories. He'd killed so many nameless, faceless mechs of the had Prowl not been one of them?

"How many mechs died?" Prowl bellowed back. "How many mechs were destroyed? Your dreams of your own future are fantasies built on the backs of those who you murdered!"

"Prowl," Prime's voice was cautious, breaking through the tensions of the Rec Room with hesitant restraint. It was a lancing shock to Prowl's spark, however, dragging him back to the present, and he gasped, tearing himself away from Soundwave. The room swam around him, colors and shapes and sounds and smells, all mixing with the past, the grit under his feet and the stench of decay, the smells of mining and destruction, all pouring from his memory banks. Prowl grasped at his table, squeezing too-hard on the edges. Data pads tumbled over each other, one sliding off the edge.

Prime's optics slid sideways, meeting Prowl's.

There were too many questions in Prime's optics, too many unanswerable questions. Prime hadn't been Prime then. He'd been Orion still, still up in the North, still waging his own battles within his own spark. Prime and Prowl hadn't met until much, much later, after the Autobots had risen and the whole world had shifted, again. Perhaps this was as destabilizing and unsettling to Prime as it was to Prowl, to relieve these memories. They had never spoken of the past, of Prowl's time with the Parliamentary enforcers, in all the years they'd served together. Prowl had never revisited these memories.

"Perhaps we should recess-" Prime's soft, quiet words, directed to Prowl alone, were cut off by Soundwave, speaking boldly from his solitary, shackled position.

"Parliament's problems: not only insurgency," Soundwave said, his chin held high. "Your problems: your _own_." This time, Soundwave's optics slid to Prime for the first time since the tribunal had begun.

Darkness filled Prime's optics as he tore his gaze from Prowl's. He stared back at Soundwave. "Megatron."

The crew froze, the tentative whispers and hushed words of spite and disbelief halting in a sudden rush of clenched gears and lines. They all remembered that day. They couldn't not.

Prowl's hands slid over his station as he turned, fingers dragging over the surface. "Megatron," he echoed, staring back at Soundwave.

"Greatest betrayal Cybertron has ever known."

Prowl's optics slid at Soundwave's words, staring at Jazz. Jazz was looking straight ahead, not moving a servo, not a line, not a single motion at all. His face was cast in stone, set immutable against the rest of the world. _Is this what you expected_, Prowl wanted to scream. _Is this what you love? What happened to you?_

"Megatron: saw future," Soundwave pressed on. "Saw failures of Unification. Saw how to salvage the world. Saw unfolding events, before all others-"

"Spare me the liturgy of Megatron's virtues!" Prowl cried, interrupting Soundwave. A chuffing sound from the crew, agreement, the beginning of unsettled mechs. "He's a terrorist and a murderer and he betrayed the entire planet."

"Megatron: freedom fighter. Saw perfect potential for individual liberty and freedom." Soundwave's words shorted, jumbling in his vocalizer as he stumbled, his processor catching up with the fervor of his spark. "_Was_," he amended softly, breaking his optic's hold on Prowl. "Megatron: _was _a freedom fighter."

Silence filled the Rec Room, then, frozen at Soundwave's addendum. Jazz stirred, for the first time, shifting on his feet, acknowledging the unspoken undercurrent that had driven them both to their actions. The crew stared amongst each other, Sideswipe catching Sunstreaker and Smokescreen's confused gazes.

Prowl's optics narrowed, hearing Soundwave's last statement but unable to process it, not yet. Prime, however, stared at Soundwave, his gaze intense and introspective. Not a mech moved.

Finally, Soundwave began again, forcing his stuck vocalizer to speak once more. "Megatron: joined insurgents."

His simple words belied the prodigious, mortal blow Megatron's betrayal had been to the Army he commanded. Megatron, Commander of the Forces General of the Army, Lord High Protector, the right hand of Sentinel Prime. His betrayal had taken the Seekers, a third of the forces, and solidified the entire subcontinent against the Parliament.

Prowl remembered the shock, the confusion, the utter calamity that had rained down upon their forces. _Holy frag, are those Seekers? What the slag are they doing? They're firing on us! Run! Run!_

Choking off his gasp, Prowl forced the memories out of his processor. They lingered, refusing to be pushed aside, tendrils clinging to his spark. Ghosts hovered at the edges of the Rec Room. Their hollow optics fixed on Prowl, cold depths staring him down.

Soundwave's words kept on, speaking over the thundering in his lines and the roaring within his spark. "First battle: proved occupation had weakness. Megatron: _proved_ Parliament could be fought." Soundwave paused, hesitating before he spoke. "Proved Parliament could be beaten. Occupation: could be _overthrown_." That knowledge had been a fire, a bursting, raging fire that swept through the camps, swept through the rag-tag bunches of huddled, starving mechs, and invigorated everyone with a promise of a future they'd only dared to dream of before.

Soundwave, now a mech, had met Megatron on top of the smoldering ruins of the Parliamentary headquarters in downtown Kaon. Seekers flew in trines overhead, checking their lasers and streaking fire across the sky. Others barrel rolled, whirling through the night with roaring echoes that shook the entire world. It was a celebration party, and it lit the night sky with the fires of destruction and laser blasts for days on end. Soundwave had stumbled up the wreckage, his small gang of insurgents and rebels behind him, all trying to meet this new leader, this Megatron.

Starscream had come down from the skies, screaming in for a landing next to Megatron with brutal, terrible grace, his jet turbines burning the wreckage beneath his feet. Megatron, working from his mobile handheld holoprojector, was directing Seeker trines and marching columns of his defecting army in attack patterns against Parliament's troops throughout the city.

Starscream activated his own holomap, the globe appearing in the palm of his hand. "Aerial batteries exterminated, Megatron," Starscream had hissed. "They are on the run."

"Give chase," Megatron chuckled, his vocalizer darker than the burning night. "Give them a reason to run."

In a moment, the holomap had vanished from Starscream's palm and he was rising into the sky, a blur of transformation and jet wash, and the heat of his turbines burned over Soundwave's plating as he blasted off. Soundwave's arm rose, shielding his remaining optic as he watched.

"You!" Megatron's voice barked down to Soundwave, peering at his band of ragged freedom fighters through the smoke. "Come here."

Soundwave could never forget the first time he stood before Megatron. Megatron stared at him, looking him up and down, cataloguing his every part, his every purpose, weighing and judging him in a single moment and deciding his fate with the next breath. "What is your designation?"

"Soundwave."

"_You've _been fighting down here?" Megatron glanced behind Soundwave, staring at the rest of his band of rebels. "All of you?"

"Affirmative."

"Mmmm…." Megatron had turned away, dismissing Soundwave as quickly as he'd arrived.

Soundwave wasn't ready to leave, wanting that moment, that burning, passionate moment of change to last forever. "That holomap:.." he'd asked, stepping forward and putting himself back into Megatron's line of sight. "All your Generals have this technology?"

Turning back to Soundwave, Megatron had stared him down, staring at him with crimson optics so dark they were black, as black as the smoke burning behind him, reflecting the flames dancing all around. The moment froze, Megatron, Commander General of the Army, staring at Soundwave, the slave and rebel, for too long.

Finally, Megatron smiled, a cold thing, and handed his holomap to Soundwave. The device, a small ball, pulsing with energy, was heavy in his palm. "No, Soundwave," Megatron said simply. "Every one of my soldiers has one."

Soundwave, grasping for everything he'd never had, burned to the depths of his core to be one of his soldiers. _This_, everything that Megatron was, what he could deliver, was something worth fighting for. He squeezed the holomap projector in his dirty palm, holding Megatron's gaze.

"I need a squad to secure the prison," Megatron had said. "Report back to me when you are finished."

It had never been the same, from that night on. That night they tasted victory and vengeance, and the promise of a future they'd only ever dreamed about was finally a possibility.

Prowl's words broke through Soundwave's memories, forcing him back to the present. The chains hung heavy on his wrists, so different than the powerful victory that had been surging in his spark and his memories.

"When," Prowl began, his voice thick and choked, "did freedom fighting turn to wanton murder?"

"Goal: only for occupation's departure."

"Now that is absurdly not true." Prowl stormed forward. "We fought for too long, slaggit, but when we _left_, when we pulled _out_, you kept _fighting_. You kept on fighting, Soundwave! It wasn't _enough_ for you, was it?" Soundwave said nothing, staring back at Prowl. "Was it?" Prowl shouted. He pressed into Soundwave's face again. "Was it?"

"Parliament: never let Kaon live in freedom-"

Prowl cut Soundwave off, his doorwings flaring wide. "It wasn't about _freedom_! You took your war and you spread the rage and the misery everywhere you went!"

Soundwave's voice rose as well, fighting Prowl's for supremacy. "Parliament: never allowed Kaon a chance at freedom. Never allowed Cybertron chance for freedom. Had to rid planet of Parliament-"

"Freedom wasn't what you were after when you _murdered_ thousands, Soundwave!" Prowl turned back to his table, grasping at his data pads. He pulled the first one, onlining the screen as he raced back to Soundwave, dark danger in his hot gaze. "You joined up with Megatron, right here." Prowl held the data pad out for Soundwave, showing him the meticulous timeline the Autobots had prepared on his history and life. Soundwave's visor glowed, reading over the data before Prowl pulled it back. "Here, you were promoted to section leader, given command." Again, Prowl pushed the data pad up for Soundwave to see, then pulled it back. "And in that time, you were responsible for the deaths of how many Parliamentary soldiers? How many enforcers?"

"As many as required."

"For what?"

"For Parliament to fall."

"There was another way, Soundwave," Prime called again, interrupting Prowl and Soundwave's delicate dance of bitter hatred. "We were rising as well, opposing Parliament with legislation and political action. Revolution was coming, peacefully." Prime paused, sighing. "You changed all of that."

Snarling, Prowl pushed back to Soundwave, calling up a new entry on the data pad to drive home Prime's point.

Unease fettered from the crew, a fluctuating storm of distress and memory.

Prowl held up his data pad again, ignoring everything else as he stepped too-close to Soundwave, speaking softly. "And here, Soundwave. Here is where you became Commander." He paused, holding Soundwave's gaze. "What were your duties as Commander, Soundwave?"

For a long moment, Soundwave didn't answer, searching Prowl's optics.

"What were your duties as Commander, Soundwave?" Prowl shouted, filling the Rec Room and enunciating every harsh syllable.

"Duties: perform insertion and detonation of explosives."

"You," Prowl began, "were a triggerman. Yes?" As always, home was where was agony was.

"Affirmative."

"And in your duties inserting and detonating explosives, Soundwave, there was one _very _special target, wasn't there? One target above all others? Chosen after the rise of the Autobots? Chosen in response to the Autobots overtures of alliance and promises for change?"

Soundwave was silent.

Prowl circled Soundwave again, slow, even steps, stalking his trapped prey. "It was _after_ the Autobots had negotiated for Parliament's retreat, in fact. _After_ Sentinel Prime called a new government to form in Iacon." Prowl's circuit completed, he stopped in front of Soundwave. "One very _special_ target," Prowl hissed. "A message."

In the crowd, Bluestreak's trembling finally overcame him, and he shuddered, falling into Sunstreaker's side. Sunstreaker's arm was around his shoulders in an instant, holding Bluestreak up as his knees gave way. "This isn't happening," Bluestreak mumbled against Sunstreaker's plating. "This isn't happening, no, no." He pushed, pushing against Sunstreaker as he tried to claw closer, tried to pull himself deeper into Sunstreaker's arms.

"Last memory of Kaon:" Soundwave began slowly, growling. "_Burning_ in rubble. Devastation. Destruction. Everything once known, destroyed. Wiped from _existence_." Soundwave's hands gripped down, fists clenching as he pulled at his chains, straining against his shackles. "Parliament: left us with nothing."

"You left us no choice." Prowl interjected sharply.

"Autobots: inferior," Soundwave growled.

"You didn't want to stop killing because that's all you are! That's all any of you are! Murderers!" Prowl was steps from the edge now, hovering on the brink.

"Revenge:" Soundwave hissed, spitting back at Prowl. "_Burns_."

"Primus, I can't- Oh, Primus-" Bluestreak couldn't stand on his own anymore, and he clawed at Sunstreaker, lost in his memories and the darkness of his past.

Sunstreaker tried to hold him up, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and his waist, but he couldn't get through Bluestreak's past. "Blue, I'm here," Sunstreaker whispered furtively. His optics met Sideswipe's over Bluestreak's panicked shoulder as Sideswipe came to help, holding onto Bluestreak's arm.

"You murdered thousands of innocent civilians!" Prowl shouted, bellowing at Soundwave at the front of the room. "You! _You_ were the Commander and _you_ were the triggerman!"

"No boundaries for Parliament: no boundaries for Decepticons!" Soundwave shouted back, just as ferocious. "Autobots aligned with Parliament: destroyed Kaon, occupied city-state, destroyed entire subcontinent! Decepticons: left with nothing!" Soundwave's vents screamed as his engine roared, and he pulled against his shackles once more, clanging them against his wrists as he strained. "Autobots locked in the safety of Iacon, holding fast to ideals of Unification and subservient populations. Decepticons: _never _surrender freedom!"

"Freedom never meant the slaughter of an entire city!"

"Prowl: unable to face truth!"

"The only truth is that you are a mass murderer!"

"Truth: learned how to murder en masse from Parliamentary enforcers!" Soundwave roared. His engine blazed, the fires of his spark bursting free with the raw anguish of his hatred pouring forth. Memories of the occupation, of striped and painted enforcers trying desperately to enforce order and logic onto a world that had never experienced it, of desperate mechs fighting desperate mechs, lost in translation as they couldn't reach one another, and of losing control, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, filled his spark and soul. He'd seen the enforcers ravage through the neighborhoods, searching for the rebels. They had become the weak, as they fought the weak, becoming as rabid and dark and twisted as they mechs they had been sent to combat.

For once, Prowl stepped back, only a half-step, but it filled Soundwave's spark with a petty, dark victory. "Truth:," Soundwave began again, seizing upon the long-lost feeling of the hunt. He and Prowl were locked in their dual, locked in their mortal race to the finish. Darkness and hatred poured in all around, mixing with the screams of rage and agony that filled his memories, and of burning worlds and forgotten dreams. "Truth: standards of war placed by you. Tactics and morality: copied from you." His breath was harsh as he panted, holding Prowl's gaze and pressing forward. "Destroying cities. Devastating lives. Snatching mechs in the dark of night." His engine rumbled. "Making an example." His spark, and all the darkness within it, roared.

"You are _insane_," Prowl hissed. "_Every_ one of you. You are insane. You deserve everything that you have coming to you."

Prime started, beginning to rise from his station as the crew's unease spiked, the restlessness growing to a rumble.

"Prowl's words: perfect asseveration." Soundwave's shoulders straightened, spreading wide as he stared Prowl down. "Perfect circle of hatred."

"I _never_ slaughtered innocent civilians-"

"Affirmative," Soundwave interrupted, speaking over Prowl. "Autobots responsible for many deaths."

"-_Never_ attacked anyone without provocation-"

"Invasion of Kaon!"

"-_Never _wiped an entire city from the face of Cybertron! _You_, Soundwave! _You_ were the Commander and _you_ pulled the trigger! _You_ destroyed Praxus! _You_!"

Bluestreak's shrieking gave pause to everyone, even Soundwave. Bluestreak, caving in on himself and huddling against Sunstreaker, finally collapsed, the black hole of his spark and the terror that he'd run from for so many years finally eclipsing him entirely. "No!" he shrieked, his voice so raw his vocalizer shorted, static filling the silence where the pain was too great. "No!" His shrieks continued as he fell, his legs giving way, and he collapsed to the floor in a great heap, trembling and sobbing and utterly out of control. Mechs flew aside as Sunstreaker fell with him, holding onto Bluestreak as if he were the last anchor to his reality.

Memories crashed through Bluestreak's carefully-built restraint, the years and vorns of his repression, wreaking apart every one of his defenses in an instant. Emotions, all emotions, had been too poignant to feel, and he'd pushed it all away, because of _this. _Because when he felt, when he felt _anything_, it was too much, much too much, and suddenly there were memories and phantoms and ghosts and screaming, always, _always_ screaming, and the smells of burning mechs and broken steel and so much dust.

A perfect pathway was carved, a perfect, empty opening from Bluestreak's collapse, his shrieking huddle to the dais where Soundwave, Prowl, and Jazz all stood, and behind them, Prime, looking stricken and every bit his too-old age.

"I was _there_," Bluestreak choked out, forcing the words through his agony. "_I was there!"_ he bellowed. Lubricants fell from his mouth as he screamed, sobbing. "That was _my home_!"

Sunstreaker's hands helplessly fluttered over Bluestreak's plating. "Primus," he whispered. "I'm here, Blue. Primus, I'm here. I'm here." His voice was too-gruff, catching on his own vocalizer. Behind him, Sideswipe was frozen, wide-optic'd and horrified.

Soundwave stared at Bluestreak, his body half-turned to look behind at the mechs, and at the clearing they had created. Most were staring at Bluestreak, but turning to stare at Soundwave as Prowl spoke, his voice more raw than ever before. "The last survivor of Praxus," Prowl ground out, his hand gesturing to Bluestreak. "And the last three Praxians in existence, in this room." Behind Bluestreak, the tips of Smokescreen's doorwings fluttered over the crowd of mechs.

Soundwave stared at Bluestreak, still heaving, still sobbing, still clinging to Sunstreaker in a ragged mess of memories and ghosts, for a long, silent moment before he turned and faced Prowl once more. "The last survivor of Kaon," he began, his vocalizer just as raw. "Standing before you."

Nobody moved. Not a mech breathed. Jazz, finally, looked down, his optics dimming behind his visor as he stared at the decking. Soundwave and Prowl's optics remained locked together, burning hot.

"I believe," Prime finally said, breaking the pensive pall that had descended. Bluestreak's sobs echoed at the back of the Rec Room. "I believe it is time for a recess."

* * *

Red Alert guided Soundwave and Jazz, under heavy guard by Ironhide and Hound, out of the Rec Room and across the hall to a storeroom, half emptied for their uses. Hound wouldn't look at Jazz as he backed him into a corner, setting up guard and turning away. Ironhide stayed with Soundwave, and he stepped too close, pushed his body too close, and stared into Soundwave's dim visor. Soundwave looked away, not meeting his searching, menacing gaze.

Jazz, across the cramped and musty storeroom, tried to catch Soundwave's optics. _Look at me, Jazz_ pleaded in his helm. _Just look at me, Soundwave, look at me._

Soundwave never did.

The Rec Room had emptied, the mechs fleeing the stifling pressures of the tribunal and the whirlwind eddies that had torn through the room. Bluestreak and Sunstreaker had been the first to flee, Sunstreaker manhandling Bluestreak into his arms as they stumbled out into the hallway, every mechs' optics watching their every move. Bluestreak could barely function, barely held his feet, and the sobs were still tearing out of his vocalizer and wreaking over his body, shattering every last tendril, every last shred of his fabricated control. The rest of the crew followed, lost in their own memories, playing in their own shadows and caught in the darkness that had settled over everything.

Sideswipe trailed after Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, trying to help his brother and his friend as best he could. Sunstreaker's hands cupped at Bluestreak's face, his fingers stroking and ghosting over his cheeks, his plating. Bluestreak was leaning against the bulkhead, his hands gripping onto Sunstreaker's forearms, shaking vents heaving terrible gasps of despair. "I'm here, Blue," Sunstreaker kept repeating, grunting the words out through his choked vocalizer. "I'm here."

Sideswipe stood behind, lost and listless, watching. Mechs filled the corridor, slowly filing out of the Rec Room, though they all kept their distance. Sideswipe turned, watching, and his optics peered back within, catching on white-splayed doorwings and a down-turned red chevron.

Inhaling, Sideswipe pushed away from Sunstreaker, pushing through the crowd that had built between him and Prowl, separating him from the door. Murmurs and whispers assaulted his audials, mutterances of vengeance and pain. Sideswipe was deaf to all of it and he pressed on, finally shouldering past Hot Spot and Silverbolt and pushing himself back through the slowly-closing doors of the silent, near-empty Rec Room. Sideswipe froze, watching Prowl, and his spark lurched, screaming and raging and demanding all at once.

It hurt, in every which way, seeing Prowl like this. This wasn't the mech he'd known for years, wasn't the strong, capable mech he'd fallen so deeply in love with. He remembered the first time he'd seen Prowl, striding before the column of new recruits, crisp paint, wide-spread doorwings, high-held helm and perfectly pointed chevron. Sideswipe had never seen anyone so dedicated in his entire life. It flowed out of Prowl, living in his every movement, his every footfall, every sharp turn of his helm, every critical sweep of his optics. Prowl had paused before him and his brother once, seizing them both up, and Sideswipe's entire engine had jumped, freezing and rushing forward at once, seizing within his body. Prowl moved on a moment later, the entire incident a non-event to him. To Sideswipe, his world had been remade anew, one new mech rising above all others.

That wasn't the mech before him now. Prowl was facing away, his hands grasping the edges of his station, his fingers vices that were crushing the metal. His doorwings flared, trembling, hanging low on his back, and his shoulders were hunched, his helm turned down, staring at the tabletop.

Moving closer, Sideswipe finally caught sight of Prowl's profile. His optics were offline, squeezed shut, his face contorted in a wild grimace. The trembles in his doorwings were racing through his body, his grip on the table his only hold to any semblance of sanity.

If he could just hold on, he wouldn't fly apart, wouldn't fall apart, wouldn't break apart at the seams.

Sideswipe's footfalls echoed around the empty Rec Room, chasing the ghosts that clawed at Prowl's armor to the corners, breaking through the haze of history crashing through his spark. Prowl's hands gripped down harder, the tabletop screeching in protest, and he glanced over his shoulder with a sigh. His optics, when they onlined, were darkened with too many memories, too many nightmares, too many dark nights in an occupied city.

"Where's Prime?" Sideswipe asked. His voice was barely a whisper, and still, it broke over the bulkheads.

Swallowing, Prowl shook his helm. "Taking a break." Ragged were his words, rough-hewn and burning with the remembered dust of explosions. He tried to shake his helm again, trying to dislodge the memories. Stubborn, they refused to dissipate, clinging to his mind.

"What about you?" Sideswipe drew to a slow stop next to Prowl. "Do you need a break?"

Metal protested as Prowl's fingers clenched at the edge of the table. He glanced away, looking at the bulkhead and at nothing, and at the battlefields stretched behind and before him, ghosts of comrades and enemies screaming in his spark and his memories. "I'm fine," Prowl grunted. He pushed himself off the table, letting his doorwings resettle on his back. "I'm fine."

"Like slag." Sideswipe glared at Prowl, calling him on his lie. He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I watched you during…that." Sideswipe's hand waved through the air behind them, trying to encompass the madness of the tribunal.

Prowl threw a wry glance sidelong at Sideswipe. "Watching me?"

"Yes." Sideswipe would not be deterred. "I was watching you." He peered at Prowl, trying to read the lines of his face, the pinched edges of his optics, the wariness in his gaze. "I never knew that." Sideswipe swallowed. "About you, I mean. I never knew about your …past," he finished lamely.

Prowl's gaze turned guarded in an instant, quizzical and defensive and just slightly wounded. "You make it sound like some terrible secret." He stared at Sideswipe, searching his face and his optics for any sign of his feelings, any sign of disgust or fear. Sideswipe's face, so tender and pained, faded away a moment later, displaced by the memories assaulting his processor and his spark, a ceaseless torrent of cascading nightmares. It was so long ago, so many worlds away, and yet, in an instant, Prowl was right there again, storming the streets of Kaon, his rifle clenched in his hand, his squad kneeling beside him as the prepared to strike. They were storming a warehouse, a new location identified as an insurgent stronghold, and then they were storming houses, blasting open doors and rushing into crowded rooms of mechlets, tiny screams and hungry, terrified shrieks piercing his audials. They were sneaking through the night, trying to get the drop on the next cell of insurgents, sneaking up into the top floors of the building when the bombs went off. Prowl had been on the lower level, and had only barely survived. Most of his squad was searching the upper floors. They never had a chance when the building – decidedly empty, decidedly a trap – exploded.

Inhaling sharply, Prowl squeezed his optics shut, trying to block the flood of memories. He didn't want to remember, slaggit. He didn't want to relive these moments. They were ceaseless, however, repeating on an ever-lasting loop, a repeating fugue of terror and agony and death. Memories cadenced, rose, exploded, and started again, in bass bombs and explosions this time, soprano screams of horror the next.

"No, I didn't mean that," Sideswipe's hands wrung helplessly in front of his body, fingers twisting together as he watched Prowl's silent agony, only the faintest hints of his feelings showing on the surface. He reached out, shaking fingertips barely brushing Prowl's plating. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Turn back time?" There was a tiny smile on Prowl's lips, sad and haunted, when he turned to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe sighed, swallowing, and his optics burned with a sadness that desperately wished that he could turn back the clocks, if just for Prowl, just for this moment.

Prowl's optics slid away, wandering over the mess of data pads on his tabletop. His former obsessive order had been destroyed, the pads strewn loosely. Still, separated from all the others was a lone data pad, turned upside down and balancing on the edge of the table. Prowl's optics fixed to the pad, suddenly striking, blazing with shocks of white lightning. A new glow cast over Prowl's face, shadows cast over his nose and the hollows of his cheek, falling off the angles his being.

"I need you to do something for me, Sideswipe," Prowl suddenly said, his vocalizer starting to shake. He grasped at the table edge again, the metal crunching beneath his fingers. "I need you to help me."

"What is it?" Sideswipe was at Prowl's side in an instant. "Anything, Prowl. What is it?"

Not moving, Prowl's hands squeezed again. "I need you," he began, before his vocalizer shorted. "I need you to take that data pad," Prowl nodded toward the solitary pad, alone in the corner of his table. "And take it with you. Keep it safe." Unspoken were the words, "away from me."

Slowly, as if it might explode in his hands, Sideswipe reached for the data pad, sliding it across the table before scooping it up. The screen was dark, the drive in standby, and he stared down at the screen, frowning, before he glanced back at Prowl. He gasped as he did so, his optics widening. Prowl was straining, forcing himself to stillness, and forcing himself not to look at the pad, forcing himself not to move or to grasp it. His whole body was shaking now, trembling from his hands and his forearms to his doorwings, desperate for some semblance of restraint.

"Prowl," Sideswipe whispered. "What is it?"

"Take it away, Sideswipe," Prowl grunted, his denta clenched and jaw cables straining. "I might use it if you don't." In an instant, Prowl's helm turned, blazing optics fixing Sideswipe to the decking, freezing him to the spot. "Keep it safe."

* * *

"Are you trying to say, Soundwave, that you were _goaded_ into joining the Decepticons? That you were _duped_ into being an insurgent?"

The recess lasted into the afternoon, several hours that all the mechs needed. The prisoners were brought back in, then the crew allowed to return, and Prime called the proceedings to order once more.

There was a different feel to the room, a different tension that had wormed its way through the crew. They stood back, no longer clustering near to the edge of the viewing area, but set away and huddled together. The ranks had closed in around Bluestreak and Sunstreaker, the former still trembling, his optics haunted and breaths painful, shallow gasps. Sunstreaker never left his side, never let go of his hands, never left him alone. As they filed back into the room, Sunstreaker gathered Bluestreak close, holding him in both arms as they prepared for the next round of questions. Bluestreak's friends stood close by, bracketing him on either side, a silent show of solidarity and support.

The mood had shifted, and with it, the crews' anger. Dark glares flashed to Soundwave, rage hot in their indigo depths. No one bothered to look Jazz's way, not any longer. Soundwave, however, had earned every one of their ugly, black stares, and there was an honest question hanging unspoken in the air. Why not just end it now? Prowl, for all his pain and agony, could have simply torn Ironhide's rifle from his hands and fired at Soundwave's helm, or straight into his spark, and be well and truly done with it.

And the crew would have watched in silence, not a word of protest passing their lips.

Sideswipe stood near, but apart, leaning against the side bulkhead and twisting his helm. It was the clearest and best vantage point to watch Prowl from the whole room, and Sideswipe had long ago stopped kidding himself. The tribunal was tearing everyone's spark out, ripping the crew apart from the inside out. Seeing Jazz in shackles had unseated some painful part of every mechs' spark and processor, but to Sideswipe, seeing Prowl turned so upside down, seeing him so lost in the unnatural darkness Jazz's actions had led him to, was worse than a thousand betrayals. It was feeling a death happen inside every time he caught sight of Prowl's darkened optics, his wearied faceplates, and the tortured movements of his body, so slight and so tightly controlled that Sideswipe knew no one else saw. No one else could see, truly see, Prowl's raging anguish.

He didn't even know if Prowl could see it himself.

At the dock, Soundwave peered at Prowl, staring him down in silence as Prowl's question hung in the air. "Negative," he finally said, then hesitated.

For the moment, Prowl seemed willing to let Soundwave continue.

"Choices: only viable options at the time. Actions: understood only through war. Devastation." Soundwave paused, swallowing. "Choices: freely made."

"So you wanted to be a Decepticon?" Prowl stood before Soundwave simply, pinning him back with his stare. "You wanted to be an insurgent?"

"At that moment: affirmative." It was Soundwave's turn to shake his helm at his memories, trying to dislodge the ghosts that clamored for attentions. "Joining insurgency: only way to secure any future. That future: led to war. War: led to Decepticon formation." He stared back at Prowl, his visor softly pulsing. "Options in Kaon: far fewer than options in Iacon."

Prowl's tiny smirk was without warmth. "I'm from Praxus. I wouldn't know about opportunities in Iacon."

"The desire: make Cybertron free," Soundwave pressed, ignoring Prowl's subtle barb. "Create future of freedom: absent of tyranny. That course: led to war."

"That _course_, as you say, led to terrorist attacks and homicide."

For the first time since the night before, since his hushed whispers with Jazz, Soundwave's spark gave a pull, a slight tug, a grieved, pained buckle, deep within the torn and tattered remnants that still existed. He swallowed and forced his words out. "Only viable option at the time," he repeated. "Desire: remake Cybertron to be free."

"I still don't understand how any of you could think that murder and a civil war was the way to make the planet better." Prowl's words were scathing, his tone mocking.

"All that was known." Soundwave let his hands fall, the chains around his wrists clanging softly and echoing around the room. "Onlined in death and despair, worked through devastation and ruin. Life: cold, bleak, and brutal. Starvation: ever-present. Conflict and war: ceaseless and ever-present. Corruption: everywhere. Peace: unimaginable." Soundwave paused. "Decepticon history: not exclusively conquest and war. Decepticon history: includes starvation and scraping energon shavings from dirty streets. Making do with naught."

"Excuse me if I don't join your pity party." Murmurs of encouragement, acknowledgement, and a few bald chuckles echoed around the room at Prowl's dry, scathing retort.

Soundwave shook his helm. "No pity exists. Choices made with knowledge available at the time."

Prowl snorted. "How can you possibly say that?"

"Purpose: striving for ideals." Soundwave's voice had grown deeper, thickened with memories. He'd been so much younger then, so full of pain and rage. He hadn't had the gentle touch of a smile, never felt the universe-shattering, soul-shaking breath of love. His whole life, lived without the one thing that now defined his entire being, his entire existence. The memories of his past were nightmares, never-ending, raw nightmares that cut into his soul.

He'd wanted too much, so young, and he'd done what he could. How could he have known any different? How could he have chosen any different? The world was broken, upside down, inside out. All he'd known had been his surroundings, and they had been ones of darkness, devastation and decay. Of course he'd chosen as he had.

"Actions and behaviors: learned from surroundings," he continued. "First slavers, then occupation forces. Brutality met with brutality." There hadn't been any limits, not for his masters in the mines, not in the darkness, and not with the Parliament, so eager and certain in their directives for Unification. The occupation had been swift, the forces brutal, and Soundwave could still feel the prickling of his armor, the rushes of terror mixed with lethal glee at the prospect of offlining a Parliamentary Enforcer when he caught sight of Prowl, standing at a certain angle or in a certain light. Prowl had been there, yes, an invader and occupier. And Soundwave had tried to kill him then, too.

But, something hadn't added up, hadn't quite materialized and manifested in the way he'd always dreamed. Cybertron wasn't free; it wasn't even online. The world hadn't been remade and reborn. It had just died, as completely as everyone else had, fading to blackness and darkness and nothing in the void of space.

"The purpose:" Soundwave repeated. "Change. Freedom. Absolution." He sighed, shaking his helm. "Purpose: lost."

Finally, Prowl's optics shifted, turning from blind hostility and cruel, punishing wrath, a predator's gleam, to something questioning, something uncertain. Hatred still pulsed out, but this was the look of a quizzical hunter, watching their quarry behave in an unexpected way. Prowl's silence was his assent to keep speaking, and Soundwave continued, swallowing before he forced his words through his clenching vocalizer.

"Megatron: promised new world full of freedoms and liberties and change. Promised world of opportunity and hope. Promised many things. None materialized." Soundwave had never before spoken aloud these thoughts, these betraying, traitorous thoughts against Megatron. It felt like a death sentence, more so than the chains around his hands, speaking against the one mech who he had believed in for nearly the length of his life to bring them to a better world.

The one mech, that is, until he knew Jazz. Then, everything had upended.

"Megatron," he continued. "Lost purpose. Promise extended: free Cybertron. Present situation: Cybertron offline, war continues, both sides stagnating. No hope for future remains."

Soundwave's simple, solemn pronouncement echoed around the Rec Room, suddenly gone quiet. When had this shift occurred, when had Soundwave suddenly turned against his own? The slippery slides of factions and histories and memories were all turning in on one another now, a dark mess of intrigue and haunting, ghostly memories. Still, the words he'd spoken, the halting, deep-voiced words of a futility of hope seemed oddly fitting. What hope remained when the mech the Autobots thought they could rely on had been exposed as a traitor?

Prime spoke before Prowl could, peering down at Soundwave. "You are turning against Megatron?"

"Megatron: turned against principles," Soundwave said, his voice barely above a whisper. It was still difficult, speaking aloud the words of betrayal. He'd _believed_, so very hard. "Megatron: turned against principles long ago. Decepticons: living on wishes and fantasies, old promises and forgotten dreams. Too clouded by battle and energon-lust." He sighed, swallowing again, and thought of Skywarp, Thundercracker's rougher trinemate. What did Skywarp think of the war and of their hopes for a new future? Probably not much. Probably not more than the next battle and how to get the next hit of high grade or positron rush from the charge of battle… or of murder. Where in all of that did the grand ideals of a new world fit in?

Soundwave realized, with an abruptness that left him breathless, that he'd been a fool for far, far too long. He'd lived on a broken dream, fervently wishing again and again that it would come to pass, believing in the promise so hard that he came to expect it to materialize. It _had_ to happen because he _believed_ it would. Because he _yearned_ for it. Because he could desire it so badly he could taste it, the promise of freedom. His days and years had been spent wasting away, chasing a dream, letting it consume him and become his life. He'd traded fantasy for fantasy, traded Megatron's lies for his make-believe world with Jazz, until that world had exploded all around in perfect, spectacular devastation.

This was _never_ what he wanted.

The universe never bent to the desires of one mech, never unwound itself to satisfy the starving pangs of a broken dream. He'd dreamt of freedom and been ensnared in his own folly, over and over again. It was folly upon folly upon folly, in the end. Believing Megatron. Believing the dream. Believing he didn't love Jazz. Finally accepting his capture, at the hands of Jazz's love.

Perfect, utter folly.

"Promise of Megatron's: remake Cybertron as free world. Reality: war rages on, Cybertron offline. Freedom: does not exist." Soundwave shook his helm, his voice dropping. He looked up after a moment, meeting Prowl's gaze. His optics were dark, heavy with suspicion, his doorwings flared wide and his helm tipped slightly. The tips of Prowl's chevron were casting long shadows on the decking, reaching toward Soundwave.

He stared back. There was something in Prowl's optics, something so terribly familiar.

"Hatred: not so simple a thing," Soundwave finally said, grinding his words over choked gears. He forced himself to hold Prowl's stare, falling into those turbulent optics. The shifting currents and eddies of Prowl's emotions ran hot, seething beneath the calm façade of control. "Not so easy," he pressed, growling. "Hatred: festering and turgid, cimmerian and aphotic in its reach. Seizes hold of the spark. Takes control of the soul." Soundwave's vocalizer shorted on his words as the surging power within him, nasty and blighted began to scream anew. He was filled with rage, filled with wrath, with hatred and vengeance and malfeasance. It had been a part of his life for forever, growing within him at every turn. It had fueled him, fired him, gave him a purpose to his life. There hadn't been a single moment, not one, where he'd ever imagined it could be different… until he'd felt love, through Jazz.

And that turned everything on its end.

His intrigue had turned to fascination, then turned again to obsession, and finally, to a yearning, a desire, one that was grossly manipulated against him by Starscream. Suddenly, Jazz was his… and not his at all. There was no reason, none at all, that Jazz should have forgiven him for what had happened. It was the second moment of grace in Soundwave's life, a moment that defied all explanation, all chance of thought. Still, Jazz had come back, and Jazz had wanted to know, and to understand, and, unbelievably, to trust him again. Soundwave hadn't expected the price that that would take on his soul.

First it was Jazz who was important, mortally so, to Soundwave, breaking through his harsh angles and calculating, impenetrable sheen of hatred and wrath. Then, Thundercracker, forcing his way in to Soundwave's spark with all the impatience of a Seeker. His cassettes, extensions of himself, and then suddenly, caring companions – at least, his feral symbionts. Rumble and Frenzy, kept ignorant and pushed aside, hadn't cared to notice. It was a slow slide downward, from his perfect solitude and practiced rancor to an unnatural concern, alien and foreign within his soul, for another mech… or mechs.

When the Lamborghini twins had plummeted from Thundercracker and Skywarp and Jazz had comm'd screaming about their death and shaking with fear, Soundwave had had an indescribable, inexplicable pull, a smear, a tearing within his spark: concern, fear, and love for Jazz, mixed with concern and pride for Thundercracker, and then, hanging on the edges… a concern for the well-being of the mechs that Jazz deemed important. Wondering how the Lamborghini twins were. Comming to ask about their status. Wondering at what he was doing, and still doing so.

It all fit together so perfectly. He'd been damned as a traitor and had started this slide the moment he'd felt the first twinge, the first pang of fascination toward Jazz. Once again, the decisions had been made for him, the conscious thought removed. It was circumstance, it was passion, it was hatred and love and war and yearning for so much more, then, now and always, all mixed together.

"You hate me, don't you?" Prowl stepped closer to Soundwave, his slow footsteps echoing on the decking. All the mechs were silent, staring with wide optics at the turn the proceedings had taken. Sideswipe shifted on his feet, biting his lip as his arms crossed over his chestplates. "You hate me."

Tilting his helm, Soundwave studied Prowl carefully. Silence filled the room, bouncing off every bulkhead and corner. Finally, he spoke, his voice once again too-deep and grinding. "The hatred capable of within my spark:" he growled. "Drives mechs to evil actions. Drives mechs to depravity, to viciousness." Soundwave's visor glowed, pulsing brightly, watching every silent nuance of Prowl's expression and all the turbulent storms of passion and detest surging within his blue-blackened optics. "The detestation within: destroys souls. Destroys lives." Soundwave could feel the prickling on the back of his helm, the feeling of so many optics staring at him, all screaming one thought. "It has destroyed me," he finally growled. Prowl was in Soundwave's face now, standing too-close, breathing too-close. Soundwave's spark was screaming, roaring, his repugnance and revulsion bursting from every seam and bolt in his body. It squeezed his soul, the vice grip tightening past hurt. "I have yearned for the deaths of many mechs," Soundwave whispered, his voice changing. "Yours: many, many times."

Prowl stepped back, his gaze shifting, turning triumphant, as if Soundwave had just proved to him that everything he thought of Soundwave was true, all his dark thoughts, his eviscerating accusations, all of them, painfully true.

Soundwave swallowed. They were. They had been. He was a dark thing, an evil thing, ragged and raging and full of recrimination.

It was Prime, of course, standing from on high, who spoke next, calling out to Soundwave when it was oh-too-late. It was too late for the Prime's of the world, too late for the sweeping majesties they were supposed to bring, too late for the promises of redemption and Primus' sweeping grace. Too, too late.

"What are your desires, Soundwave," Prime called out, his voice firm and steady. "You are speaking against Megatron. Do you renounce the Decepticons? Are you renouncing your faction?"

Soundwave stared past Prowl, his thoughts and memories warring against each other. "Faction: renounced itself," he finally said. His gaze turned, fixing onto Prime. "Deceptions: lost their way long ago, led by Megatron. _I_…" He swallowed, trying to push the static that closed in around his words away. "Tried." He couldn't speak for a long moment, and silence filled the Rec Room, heavy with tension and need. "Tried to act. Tried to change. Tried to do _something_. Tried to correct course of war, course of destiny." He turned his helm, chancing a look at Jazz. What could Jazz be thinking, after all of this?

He needn't have worried. Jazz was staring, watching him with optics that glowed, burning bright behind his pulsing visor, all his emotions laid bare. They were shining brighter than Soundwave had ever seen, his lips pressed together, holding back the saddest smile Jazz had ever worn. Their gazes fixed, locking together, and the Rec Room faded, the tribunal evaporated, dissipating to nothing, and it was just the two of them facing each other. "Tried to find something worth living for," Soundwave breathed. In his mind, lightness and brilliance was streaming from behind Jazz, centered around his spark and his smile. It was blinding, always blinding, cutting him to pieces in the worst, best way. He'd never known, _could _never have known, that Jazz was this creature of matched harmony, the companion to his very being, if he'd stayed on that monstrous, dark path of before. He'd lost something, something he'd thought irreplaceable to his soul and spark in darkness of the mines and the war, and it only recently had silently shuffled back into place. In the darkness, in the blackness and the void of his rage, he'd lost the faces of the war. He'd lost the mechs, the bodies and the sparks that he'd huddled so close to in the darkness of the mines, working together to survive. It had changed, somewhere, somehow, to a vast stupefaction of hatred and burning, and nothing had existed save nameless, faceless bodies and the need to destroy.

Moments had changed that. Moments with Jazz, his quicksilver smile, his finger-snapping to the music he'd recorded. Hesitant optics that didn't know if they wanted to kiss him or not. Jazz's rage, his anger and hurt when his friends and comrades had been injured. Moments with Thundercracker, the Seeker's sliding to his side and becoming his friend, insidiously and with too much crafty skill. Walking shoulder to shoulder, laughing together, his cassettes striding before them, easy, friendly, companionable. Fixing Thundercracker, working on his repairs, in the Seeker's moment of weakness. Moments that should never have been. Moments that had changed everything.

"Do you denounce and renounce the Deceptions?" Prime repeated, staring at Soundwave.

Soundwave's gaze snapped back to Prime, his optics flashing. A curl of anger slipped around his spark. "Negative," he said. "Too much history for simple denouncements." He inhaled, holding Prime's optics, a slight sheen of disappointment falling from their gaze. "There is no longer any place for Decepticons within the universe, however," he continued. "Not as they currently exist."

Prime's gaze shifted again, a mix of calculation and curiosity in his narrowed gaze.

"What is it then that you want?" Prowl pressed, moving forward. His gaze, set against Prime's, was downright clinical, weighing and judging each piece and part of Soundwave's soul. "What's the point of this?" His hand waved through the air, dismissing and encompassing all of Soundwave's history and his words in one simple action.

"Desires: to be heard," Soundwave said without thinking. "To be understood." At that, Prowl scoffed, turning away. Soundwave pressed on, his voice rising at he spoke to Prowl's back and twitching doorwings. "For the first time in vorns: finally able to stand proudly, claim actions as my own." He turned his helm again, looking back at Jazz. This time, Jazz did smile, and it was as if the sun were rising over Cybertron again, a new day, a new world. "Fought for the 'good,' once," he choked out. "Sidetracked by evil."

At Soundwave's utterance, Prowl turned his helm, optics narrowed and glancing over his shoulder back at Soundwave. Soundwave wasn't looking at him as he pressed on, still looking at Jazz, lost in his optics and his smile. "Discovered something worth living for."

Prowl finally turned, stalking back to stand before both Soundwave and Jazz together. "Was it worth dying for?" he asked simply, his voice dark and grinding.

"Affirmative," Soundwave answered, his helm sliding back to Prowl. Their optics held for a long moment, regarding each other carefully. "Evil exists," he began simply, staring at Prowl. "Evil: infected our world. Nothing is safe." Turning to Prime, Soundwave's optics narrowed. "Were you not supposed to save all from evil?" No answer came, not that Soundwave expected any. He glanced at Jazz again, inhaling as he did so, then turned back to Prowl. "Life: lost within voids of rage and evil. Many choices made within the darkness. Regrets:…" He flashed back to the brig with Jazz, their conversations from the night prior. "Regret how Cybertron was destroyed. Own role, in that." Barely, almost imperceptibly, Soundwave turned to glance over his shoulder, staring back into the crowd of mechs and to Bluestreak. "Final choices:…" He sighed again, letting the fullness of his actions, the fullness of his choices fill his soul. Yes, he was happy with this. He could live with this, these choices he'd made, especially at the end, when he'd turned, adjusted course, and had _tried._ Yes. "My final choices: for a difference. To fight against evil." He turned to Jazz. "For love."

Silence filled the Rec Room. Not a mech moved. Not a mech breathed. Prowl's doorwings were the only noise at all, barely perceptible as they vibrated, the only sign of the barely-restrained, barely controlled bursting of rage and hostility lying beneath his plating. Soundwave and Jazz were staring at each other, the world having faded from both of their lives, until it was just them in the room, meaning and magic passing between their gazes.

"I believe," Prime finally said, choking past his words. "That it's time to adjourn."

* * *

The crew had filed out some time ago, silence and stiffness leading their way. Sideswipe was hovering between Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, collapsed around each other like binary stars in a death dance, and the door of the Rec Room, waiting for some sign of Prowl. He was still within, along with Red Alert and the prisoners. Prime had disappeared earlier, striding to his office with the weight of the world resting on his broad shoulders.

Inside, Red Alert was leading Soundwave out, Ironhide standing guard and escorting them both to the doors. Hound was gesturing for Jazz to follow, but Prowl stopped him, stepping in between Hound's gesturing rifle and Jazz's shackled body. "I'd like a moment with the prisoner," Prowl grunted, letting his optics lock on to Jazz's. "Wait outside." His tone left no room for argument.

Sideswipe saw a glimpse of Prowl as Hound slid out of the Rec Room, nervously taking up his guard post at the entrance. Their gazes met briefly before Sideswipe's optics flashed back to Prowl, closing the distance between himself and Jazz until there was barely any space at all between their bodies. Sideswipe inhaled, stepping forward, but the doors slid shut, cutting him off from everything within. Swallowing, he let his hand rest on the cold plating of the door. He didn't say a word, even when Hound's optics stared at him with something close to pity.

Prowl was oblivious to Sideswipe's gaze, instead solely focused on Jazz before him. Jazz, who, though still shackled and mottled with grime and dirt uncleaned from the mine incident and their cobbled-together brig, stood before him proudly, his shoulders held square, helm held high, chin proudly raised. He didn't flinch as Prowl moved closer, barely far enough to be decent. Prowl's arms, crossed over his chest, were brushing on the edges of Jazz's chest as his optics search Jazz's. They were peering intently, looking for something. "It's not too late, Jazz," Prowl whispered. "It's not too late."

Jazz tilted his helm, smiling sadly at back at Prowl. "Yes it is."

Shaking his helm, Prowl swallowed before speaking. "You can still renounce it. We can still fix this. You can say you were manipulated. He was using you. The attack," Prowl's voice guttered suddenly. "We can _fix_ this. We can still _fix_ this."

Jazz was shaking his helm slowly, never breaking Prowl's gaze. "Prowl," he sighed. "No. I already told you and Prime: I'm not running from what I did."

"Jazz…" Prowl's voice shifted, dropping, and suddenly he was pleading. "Don't make me do this."

"I made my choices, Prowl," Jazz whispered back, his voice finally growing rough. "I expect to pay for them. And I don't expect you to understand."

Prowl's emotions burst in every different direction, his spark, that cold dead thing he'd thought had been destroyed days ago, shattered again, seizing within his soul. Frustration, anguish, rage, terrible, painful, bitter hurt, and a frantic desperation to not allow this, to not let this happen, exploded simultaneously. He shook with the force of this, his body trembling as he hands demanded to just reach out and shake Jazz, grab him and shake some sense into him, to scream and wail and beg and plead with him to just fragging snap out of it. Whirling, he turned away, breathing deeply to steady himself.

"Did you _hear_ what he said, Jazz?" Prowl finally growled. "Did you _hear_ what he did? What he's done?"

"I already knew." Jazz's words were simple, and he continued to hold his helm high, his hands calmly shackled before him.

"How can you love him?" Prowl gasped, staring back at Jazz. "How?"

To that, Jazz was silent. He stared at Prowl, his gaze piercing.

"Is there…" Prowl swallowed, his optics dimming as he spoke. "Anything you regret?"

When Jazz finally spoke again, his words were hesitant, softer. "I regret hurting you." He licked his lips. "Leading you on."

Finally, Prowl's spark broke the last bit, and he turned back to Jazz with melancholy optics. "You're sorry you started anything with me?"

"Because it led to this." Jazz nodded. "Because it hurt you." He tried, but he couldn't force out the words of apology, and instead, he looked away.

"I wish," Prowl started, moving slow and softly back to stand in front of Jazz, too, too close. "That you were sorry for ending it with me."

Jazz looked away. "What do you want me to say, Prowl? You want things to go back to the way they were? You want things to not have changed? They have, forever. We didn't get to choose how, but they did."

"You made your choices, Jazz," Prowl said softly. "You made choices. But they don't have to be your last."

"You made choices too, Prowl." Jazz wouldn't break Prowl's somber, wounded stare. Prowl had made his choices, oh yes. Jazz had been oh-so-weak when Prowl had come to him, words of comfort and warm arms that led to a warm body. Culpability lay with Jazz there, too, but slaggit, Prowl should have known better. He'd trusted him, wanted him to make everything better. Instead, they'd fallen into the void, swirling out of control amidst emptiness and panic. Jazz had run to Soundwave.

And Prowl had run to vengeance.

There had been no question, none, after he'd seen that. Prowl was many things, but he'd never expected Prowl to be a hard-lined killer. Murder, in the vicious degree, sneaky, full of malice. Prowl had wanted Soundwave to suffer.

Finally, Prowl spoke again as he stepped aside. "I'll walk you back to your cell." He gestured forward, letting Jazz take the lead to the doors. Hound met them on the other side, and Sideswipe, scrambling to his feet from his slump against the bulkhead, all wide optics and tightened lips. Prowl's optics met his in the briefest flash, and then Hound was flanking Jazz's other side as they escorted him down to the brig in silence. After a moment, Sideswipe followed, silent.

The journey was long and took no time at all. Suddenly they were before the brig and Red Alert was there to greet them, solemnly nodding his helm as he prepared to unlatch the outer door and lead Jazz back to his cell. Soundwave was already locked within his cell.

Out of everything, this was the part Prowl hated the worst: seeing Jazz being locked up, locked behind bars in the darkness. _It wasn't right_, his tattered spark screamed. _It wasn't enough_, the remnants of his destroyed spark also echoed.

Suddenly, Jazz turned, stopping as Red Alert tried to guide him within. He turned, facing Prowl, a firmness in his gaze, and for the briefest moment, hope flared eternal within Prowl's chest.

"Prowl," Jazz began, his voice steady and firm. "I'd like to share Soundwave's cell tonight." He paused, swallowing, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Please."

The world shifted, flipping from right to left, everything unseated and changed. Prowl, who had thought for a moment that Jazz would relent, would ask to reconsider, would renounce Soundwave and all his choices instead of go into that cloying darkness, stopped. Stopped all thought. Stopped all feeling. Stopped all movement. Just stopped living, for another long moment, holding Jazz's gaze.

"Please," Jazz repeated. "It's our last night. Tomorrow isn't coming and neither of us are running away." He paused, smiling sadly at Red Alert, standing shocked to the side. "You can even leave the shackles on. Just… please, let us be together, one last time. Please."

Prowl finally inhaled, just before his engine was about to explode. He'd always admired Jazz's fearlessness, always. He'd always said it'd get him in the end. He never knew that he was speaking about himself when he said that. "Red Alert," Prowl choked out. "Place Jazz in Soundwave's cell." He held Jazz's gaze as he spoke, and he saw the flash of shock, surprise, and then the shift to breathless gratitude, lengthened by sadness and the barest hint of guilt.

Prowl turned as Red Alert fumbled his affirmative and before the sounds of the brig door creaking open filled the corridor. He started walking away, his arms once again folded over his chest, and though he didn't want to, his audials searched behind him for the sounds of Jazz's shuffling and the clanking slide of the cell doors – _Soundwave's_ cell doors – being slid open. As expected, there was only silence, no attempt at an escape, no dramatic flight of fancy. It was true; they had accepted their fates.

The cell door slid shut, and Prowl stopped, one hand rising to brace himself against the bulkhead as he sighed. He shook his helm, his optics offline, and let his shoulders roll forward.

Out of nowhere, a hand was touching his shoulder, gentle and warm. Prowl's optics onlined with a flash as his helm whipped up. His optics were too-bright, narrowed and accusing, but all that melted away as he found himself staring straight into the naked expression of Sideswipe. Sideswipe's hand squeezed down onto his shoulder, a worried frown creasing the edges of his optics, and he licked his lips as he fought for something to say.

_"Prime to Prowl."_ Prowl's comm broke the moment, brutally.

"Yes, Prime?" Prowl straightened, and Sideswipe's hand slipped off his shoulder, trailing down his arm before falling helplessly to his side.

_"We need you in my office for deliberations."_ Prime's voice was too old, too tired, too defeated.

"I'm on my way." Prowl cut the comm. He turned to Sideswipe, mulling his thoughts for a moment. "Come with me?"

As if there were any other option. Sideswipe nodded silently and started walking with Prowl, shoulder to shoulder, the only bulwark against the darkness and the madness.

* * *

"There are days…" Prime began, tilting his helm back as he slumped in his chair. "That I hate this job."

Red Alert, looking haggard and worn thin, nodded, shifting as he leaned against the bulkhead next to Prime's desk. Prowl stood, unable to sit, before his desk. There was too much energy coursing through him, too many thoughts and actions and feelings.

"Well?" Prime tipped his helm forward, regarding both Red Alert and Prowl in turn. "Your thoughts, officers?"

Red Alert sighed and let his helm tip back against the bulkhead. "Logically, factually, there is only one true outcome here."

Prime sighed again, turning to Prowl. Prowl was an exercise in stillness, a meditation on control.

He shook his helm. "Logically, factually, they are guilty. Jazz pleaded so. Soundwave confirmed it with the facts of his accused crimes." Prowl swallowed, holding Prime's gaze.

Prime was silent for a long time, staring into the space between his officers and the silence of his office. He swallowed before finally speaking, the act extraordinarily difficult, pulled from deep within. "I don't want to accept this," he rumbled, his voice too deep. "Jazz... He's been my officer for years, for vorns. My friend for…" He trailed off, shaking his helm.

"Jazz is not your mech anymore." Prowl's voice was final, hard and firm. He turned his helm, staring down at Prime. Red Alert was silent, the tip of his pede scratching over the decking.

Prime looked away, gripping the solid arms of his chair in a vice grip. "The course has been set, then," he grunted softly. His optics dimming, Prime shook his helm. "If Jazz had offered a testimony, we could have tried to work through it." He sighed again. "Deliberate with yourselves tonight. I know, Jazz pled guilty, and Soundwave's testimony was damning."

"Affirmed his crimes, really," Red Alert muttered from the side.

"Still." Prime shook his helm. "We owe justice to these mechs." His optics met Prowl's again, repeating words from earlier conversations. "If we dismiss this, we're no better than our predecessors." Soundwave's words of corruption hung in the air, echoes of past times.

Prowl shifted, uneasy. There was too much history wrapped up suddenly, too much of the past colliding with the present.

"Good night, officers," Prime said sadly, gazing at them both. "Pray this night passes swiftly."

* * *

As was fast becoming the foundation of Prowl's world, Sideswipe reappeared, waiting for him outside of Prime's office, nervous optics and twisting fingers and hopeless devotion shining forth. Prowl didn't even flinch this time as Sideswipe slid in beside him, didn't comment as Sideswipe followed him through the corridors and back to the Rec Room. The soft hiss of the doors shutting behind their bodies was as loud as an explosion, as final as the silence descending around the Rec Room.

Prowl slowly moved toward the front, back to the wreckage of the tribunal and the scattered remnants of their day. The spray-painted dockets stood out against the decking, unable to be dismissed or shoved aside. His station, a few pads still scattered across the surface. Prime's station, his chair shoved backward carelessly. The arc of the crews' space, a clear dividing line of faction and allegiance. Prowl sighed, taking everything in. Too much had happened and he didn't know where to begin.

As always, it began with Sideswipe. "What now?" Sideswipe called out softly, breaking the silence of the room. His voice was too loud and he knew it, shifting suddenly on nervous feet as he bit his lip. He swallowed as Prowl turned, facing him.

Too much distance still separated them both, Prowl leaning back against his table from earlier, Sideswipe hovering near the back half of the crews' viewing area. The separation yawned wide, and Prowl slumped backward. "I don't know."

What was there to do? What was there even to say? Resignation hung thick, cloying. Prime wanted something different, Prowl knew. He wanted a different outcome. That, however, wasn't possible. Not without changing history, going back in time. That was impossible, too. It was all, all of it, impossible.

There was only one course of action here, only one option before them. Justice had to be served. Justice, the answering of their crimes, the answering of Jazz's actions, of Soundwave's, the long history of their war. Without justice there was no law, no order, no calm to the chaos. There was no future, even, without the calm and orderly world afforded by the prescribed measure of justice. There was order, and there was chaos. There was light and there was dark, justice or tyranny, depravity, and criminality.

There was but one course of action here: punish the law-breakers, restore order to the chaos. Capture and eliminate all forces of darkness, destroy the murderers of tomorrow. Ensure peace through order. Prowl was well within his rights – they all were, all Autobots – to offline Soundwave and be done with him once and for all. He was a criminal, a monster. He'd even admitted it, proudly.

And yet, there was still that moment when everything had shifted, when Soundwave had spoken against Megatron – and yet not – and had declared himself a mech apart from the Deceptions – but had not denounced them.

In all the trials, though admittedly, they had been few, back on Cybertron, of all the captured Decepticons, insurgents, and warriors of Megatron, none had ever spoken against their faction or against Megatron. All of them, every last one, had bitterly disputed their actions and clung fiercely to their new faction and their cause. There had been no regret, no remorse, no sign of any change of spark at all.

Soundwave, though… What had he asked for? Nothing, save that he spoke. And speak he did, of his actions, his war crimes, and his regrets.

Prowl's optics narrowed as he exhaled, his vents burning. His responsibility lay in protecting the mechs on his crew and in the continued justice and order of the Autobot universe. Whatever personal demons, whatever ghosts and spark-fueled dilemmas that had been stirred up through this nightmare had to be set aside. Sanity and clarity would be found through justice, swift and sure.

Still, unease clung to the edges of his soul. The duties of one course had been closed to him – lover, partner, beloved. Was he seeking satisfaction and the spoils of war in pursuing his alternate course? Conqueror and executioner?

Did it matter? They were guilty, and Prowl's personal disgust at their actions did not change the cold facts of the matter at hand. That he found delicious satisfaction in their judgments did not change the fact that they were lawful and legal.

There were only so many rationalizations he could offer to the world, however, or to himself, that would mitigate this passionate desire for destruction. He was treading a thin line now, between what was right and what was wrong, and for what reasons.

Prowl was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Sideswipe's slow slide up to his side, nor the gentle footfalls against the decking. Sideswipe waited patiently as Prowl stared off into the distance of history, his hands gripping on the tabletop once more. Finally, he raised his hand and tentatively reached for Prowl's shoulder. When he touched his plating, Prowl jerked, backing away as if burned.

"Sorry," Sideswipe said, looking down. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't even know what I can do, Sideswipe." Prowl shook his helm.

"Do you want me to go?" Sideswipe didn't know what he was doing, whether he was helping or hurting, or what Prowl wanted at all.

After a long moment, Prowl shook his helm. "No," he choked out. "Stay?" He didn't want to be alone.

"Always." Sideswipe smiled, and though it wasn't like his usual smiles, miniature sun bursts of warmth and radiance, it was there and it was for him. Prowl's gears clenched, freezing in his throat. How long had it been since he'd seen a smile? Primus, it felt like ages.

And why was Sideswipe smiling at him? Of all the mechs, Sideswipe had the most right to despise him. He'd been horrible to Sideswipe, said horrible things, and still, Sideswipe remained at his side. More than that, even, had wormed his way in as an impossible, unmovable feature. Sideswipe, somehow, had forgiven him his ignorance, his monstrous treatment of him, and his darkness.

That thought was uncomfortably close to another thought. There was no room for forgiveness of Soundwave, not in this universe. Sideswipe may have forgiven Prowl for his own reasons, but the universe could never forgive Soundwave. How was the thought even conceivable? It would be a betrayal, a repudiation of all the dead of the war, all their soldiers and warriors lost before them. All the thousands of civilians, the thousands of Autobots who had perished in the Decepticon thirst for conquest. Worse, actually, his processor protested. It would devalue their sacrifice, cheapen their deaths. If no memories of heroes remained, if no alter was held to the sacrifices of those who fought against evil, then what was there left to do? Forgiveness of a Decepticon would be the last great victory of the Decepticons, tearing the very spark of the Autobots from their existence.

Prowl sighed, lowering his helm, and Sideswipe's hand squeezed his shoulder again. Primus, Sideswipe had almost been killed, by Soundwave. And, by extension, Jazz, though that thought was too raw for Prowl to hold to for long. Sideswipe had died, had been torn to pieces after his fall from the Seekers, and only the briefest of miracles had kept him and Sunstreaker online. Prowl remembered Sideswipe's drugged and happy optics, bruised and battered body, and his fumbling happiness that Prowl had come to check up on him. It all made sense now, his delirious joy. "I am happy that you're alive, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp at Sideswipe's.

Another lopsided smile from the red twin. "So am I," Sideswipe said softly. He frowned. "What brought that on?"

"Just thinking about before. Your fall." This time, Prowl squeezed down on Sideswipe's hand. "I'm glad you're alive."

Sideswipe nodded, chewing on his lip. "I was afraid," he began, whispering, "that I'd die without telling you how I felt. That you'd never know how much you were…" Sideswipe trailed off. Those words were still too new, and it wasn't the time.

Sideswipe's fall played again in the darkness behind Prowl's optics, his arms and legs searching for holds that weren't there as he plummeted to the ground. His hoarse shout, watching, and the rough call to Ratchet. Seeing his broken body.

No, there were some thoughts that were impossible, some actions that couldn't be. Prowl may not be a good mech, at the end of the day, but he was a righteous mech. They would pay for their crimes.

* * *

In the end, Soundwave had not been expecting one final night with Jazz. Red Alert led Jazz into the brig and had taken an inexorably long time with unlocking Soundwave's cell, Jazz hovering beside him, stock-still. Soundwave had already slumped down on the single-slab recharge berth against the back wall, lost in his own memories and worrying thoughts of Jazz. What would Jazz think of him now?

His helm shot up as his cell door slid open. Jazz calmly stepped inside, then paused as Red Alert undid his leg shackles. Only his hands were shackled in front of his body, just as Soundwave's. Soundwave froze, watching as Red Alert backed out of the cell and slid it shut. He glared inside, his optics shifting from Soundwave to Jazz, and lingered for good measure on the latter, before he turned and left, as fast as he could.

Soundwave rose slowly and froze on the spot. His optics traveled over Jazz, trying to find some hint or clue as to what he thought, what he felt. Desire pounded against trepidation, love against fear. "Jazz," he breathed.

The spell was broken, and Jazz strode forward, propelling himself into Soundwave's space. "Soundwave," he breathed, raising his shackled hands to cup at Soundwave's blast mask. "Primus, I've missed you."

"Query: this occurrence?" Soundwave's hands rose as well, fingers tangling with Jazz's as their chains clanged together.

"I asked for our last night to be together," Jazz whispered, leaning upward. He pressed his lips against Soundwave's blastmask, nuzzling the side of his helm with a breathy sigh. "I needed this, needed you."

"Asked?" Soundwave was still lost, but the feel of Jazz next to him, his body so close, was as close to a benediction as he felt he'd ever receive.

"I asked Prowl," Jazz whispered, his voice finally growing ragged. He sighed, sagging into Soundwave's body as his hands fluttered around Soundwave's blastmask and neck, then down to his chest. "He allowed this."

Again, Soundwave was thrown, confusion coloring his processor. He couldn't fathom that Prowl would allow this, not with his darkness, his burning rage and bitter slight. Still, Jazz was here in his arms, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. His thoughts twisted back traitorously to earlier, to the tribunal, and to Prowl's questioning. Everything he'd said, everything that had come to the open. Jazz was in his arms, but did he have any right to be there?

"Jazz…" Soundwave began, reaching for Jazz's hands. Their chains clanged together once more, the only sound in the darkness.

Jazz pulled back, his visor casting blue light down onto Soundwave's Decepticon sigil, scratched on his chest. "What is it?" Jazz whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Query: your presence. Why?" Soundwave's crimson visor dimmed, darkening. "What you heard today-"

Swallowing, Jazz stepped back a half step, looking Soundwave square in the optics as he regarded him from helm to feet. His former expression, one of relief and happiness, was replaced suddenly by a cold determination, a hardness. Soundwave's spark guttered at the sight and his hands dropped helplessly, chains clanging. His blastmask retracted, hissing in the silence, and from behind its protective shield, his lips were quivering, unspoken words trying for freedom.

"I'm going to say this just once," Jazz said, his voice caught between soft and steel. His own spark was surging, roiling within his body and soul, too much conflict for one mech to handle. Soundwave stood before him, the edges of his plating bleeding into the darkness, rubbing the harsh angles out of reality. _Primus, I love this mech. I need him. I need him so badly._ It wasn't the darkness, or the light. It was everything, all together. "I've never loved you more than I have today." He fixed his gaze to Soundwave's shocked optics, the surging crimson light falling to his faceplates. "Today," he repeated. Soundwave remained frozen as Jazz stepped forward, drawing into his body again and pulling his helm down with shackled hands. Their lips met, passion and force building as the moments ticked by.

Jazz pushed the darkness, the turmoil within as far as it could go. He tried to lose it, tried to bury it, tried to instead throw himself into the kiss with Soundwave. This was where he wanted to be, what he wanted, and nothing was going to change that. Nothing.

* * *

They drove as fast as they could, as far as they could, into the black night. Sideswipe let Prowl lead – it had been his idea to drive off into the desert in the first place – and followed his ever increasing pace until they were nearly redlining their engines and the dirt flew from around their tires in angry, steep crescents. Prowl drove ever onward, swerving this way and that, dipping too-close to Sideswipe's plating and then veering away. If Sideswipe let go of everything else, the tribunal, the pain, the fear, the sickening sight of seeing Prowl slipping away, bit by bit, it was almost like they were playing, racing even. It was almost fun, if he could put the nightmare out of his mind.

Prowl led them out into the desert and then back up a hillside, careened across a ridgeline, and then down into a rugged ravine. It was dark, with only the faint light of crescent moon casting any light at all. It hung low in the sky, sharp angles and sickle'd, ready to fall and devastate their world. Sideswipe shivered every time he caught sight of it, hovering over Prowl's body driving ahead of his. Still, it was their light, and as Sideswipe drove on, he slowly began to recognize their surroundings.

"Prowl." he slowed, not ready himself to face it again. Prowl wouldn't be stopped, however, and Sideswipe found himself following Prowl up the rugged side of a creek-washed ravine, their alt modes slipping and jerking over the undergrowth until they crested at the curve of a redwood-encircled grove.

Sighing, Sideswipe transformed in the same moment as Prowl, then watched as Prowl stared, motionless, across the grove. "Prowl?" he whispered, a moment later.

"This is where they met," he grunted, not turning to look back at Sideswipe. "This is where they met for their rendezvous."

"This is where we caught them." Sideswipe shuffled uncertainly. "How do you know it's also where they met?"

"They ran here out of panic." Prowl shook his helm. "They had to have had a meeting spot, somewhere they both knew about and were familiar with. Somewhere they could have easily met up at. Primus, they had… months." Prowl shook his helm. "Right under our optics."

Primus, how like a fool he'd been. Here, right here, they'd traded secrets, betrayed their factions, shared intelligence… interfaced. Soundwave and Jazz, his Jazz, kissing and caressing and undulating together in between the trees. He tanks jerked, recoiling. He couldn't imagine Soundwave ever making love, or softly caressing any mechs' plating, much less Jazz's. Jazz, so passionate, so warm… How had he fallen in with Soundwave? How could he find any solace in the cold arms of the Decepticon murderer?

Silence was Prowl's only answer. His thoughts spun on, tumbling over themselves as a breeze stirred the pine boughs above. Soft sounds of darkness fell over both him and Sideswipe. He could hear, barely, Sideswipe's nervous breathing and the tension creasing his frame.

Why was it so hard? Why was this so difficult? There was right and there was wrong, and there was a clear dividing line betwixt the two. There was no rationalizing, no moralizing, no ends and means at play. There were crimes and there was justice.

_It's because it's Jazz_, his conscience, ill abused and fraught with rage that it was, threw at him. _It's because you know. _Still, unease twisted his spark, not fully settled with that answer either.

The sickening curve of the moon twisted overtop the trees. Sideswipe swallowed, staring at the pale shadow. It was an uneasy night. "Do you know what day it is?" Sideswipe finally said, breaking the silence. He had to say something, anything, to get through the darkness.

Prowl frowned, half-turning. "Thursday."

Smiling despite himself, Sideswipe shook his helm. "No, I mean, on Cybertron."

Prowl's frown deepened, and he tried to spin forward with the calculations that would show him what the dates and corresponding years were, once you aligned the planetary orbits and calculated for the difference in the velocities and time, but with a sigh, he pushed that aside. "What is it?" he asked tiredly.

"It's the Festival of the Stars," Sideswipe whispered. A glow began to fill his optics as he continued speaking. "Do you remember? It's the night where we're supposed to give thanks to the stars and to the universe for all of the power and the energy that keeps our world alive." Sideswipe's gaze turned long, fading into memories. "When we were mechlets, Sunny and I would run through the streets, waving sparklers and shouting that it was the stars' day. All the other mechlets in the neighborhood would come too, and we'd be going door to door, running and screaming and waving our sparklers." He smiled, biting his lip. "There were silly little songs we sang too, about elements and electrons." He frowned, trying to remember, but shook his helm.

"How on Cybertron do you know that?" Prowl turned around and stared at Sideswipe, disbelief and confusion in his expression.

Sideswipe shrugged. "We all try to keep a hold of Cybertron somehow, right? I mean, you have that crystal garden. Sunny and I keep track of the holidays." He shrugged again, smiling softly. "Did you ever celebrate the stars' day?"

Prowl's gears had choked up at the mention of his crystal garden, his spark alighting new. His memories of Jazz heaving his tiny reconstructed garden against the bulkhead the night before they'd first made love blitzed across his processor. The memories were so clear, so vivid. Jazz was simply so _hurt_…

He'd done what he could, he'd only tried to help. How stupid he'd been.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe was peering at him, a question in his optics.

Inhaling, Prowl turned his gaze upward, staring at the sky. "When I was very young," he said softly. His smile turned thin. "Before you were even online." Primus, when Sideswipe had been a mechlet, he'd already been assigned to Kaon as a Parliamentary Enforcer. He was fighting insurgents and dodging bombs while they were playing with sparklers and singing rhymes and running rampant, innocent young mechlets. He shook his helm. "I cannot image in you as a mechlet, Sideswipe." He tried to sound rueful, but he thought he just sounded old.

Sideswipe was trying to grin. "I was a good mechlet," he said, too quickly.

"You were a hellion."

"Maybe." This time, Sideswipe did grin, and the moonlight caught on all the angles of his face, the smooth planes of his dimpled cheeks, the cheery light, deep in his optics, and the soft curves of his lips, turned up ever so slightly. Prowl's breath caught, his gears choking. All thought left his processor as his spark clenched, a painful, pitiful squeal pushing forth. "Primus," Prowl whispered, his voice shaking. Sideswipe was beautiful, shockingly so. The thought was bitter, leaving a wake of agony burning through his spark. He was in love with Jazz, still. It felt wrong to recognize Sideswipe's beauty.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe stepped forward, trying to help. Seemed he always did that wrong, though.

"I'm fine," Prowl whispered, trying to brush him off and push him aside. "I'm fine, Sideswipe."

Sideswipe's look called him liar. He was still beautiful. Prowl turned away, choking. Sideswipe stood behind him, helpless and confused and alone. "I'm sorry," Sideswipe whispered. "I only want to help, Prowl. Tell me how?"

Again, Sideswipe's words struck Prowl, physically painful. Of all the mechs in the universe, Sideswipe had to be one of the last ones who had any reason, any right, to be kind to him. To be forgiving. It was spinning his world, knocking everything off kilter. It was wrong. It was just wrong… and Prowl needed it, more so than he dared admit.

Primus, what was wrong with him? This decision was done, was set. It was final. The fact that it sat unsteady on his soul made not a difference to the universe at all. The scales of justice did not bend to the emotions of mechs. There was no reason for this chaos, this tumult in his spark. He should be well and done with the entire business. Why'd they even bother with waiting overnight? As far as the crew had been concerned, they could have had the execution just after Prime's recess and settled the matter once and for all. In fact, the rumblings from the crew after everything had not been ones of discontent with the proceedings, or with the thought of 'what next,' as they'd feared. No, the crew had been grumbling over why it wasn't done already. Why wasn't justice dispensed, swiftly?

Prowl didn't have an answer for that. He wondered the same thing.

His sympathies lay with Bluestreak, that much was certain. With the dead of their home, with their dead home itself. These were the aggrieved parties, the victims. It was utter madness that he was wasting even a thought to Soundwave. Utter, terrible madness.

Still…

It hung, deathly still, in the center of his soul. Hearing Soundwave's words. Seeing the light in his optics, as he stared at Jazz. The cadence of his voice, as it broke on few words, one of those words being Megatron's name. The other being his defection. Almost defection? Not quite defection? What was this that Soundwave was doing? Standing apart? Sharing intelligence with Jazz?

Getting caught was what it was. They'd started an affair, under the most dubious of circumstances, covered it up as best they could, and then, when it got tough, they'd tried to run. And failed. And got caught.

And now were standing trial. Soundwave had been given a voice now, the freedom to share his story. Provide words to those who could hear. Wasn't that what he'd said he wanted? Soundwave had spoken his piece, and the set to his face, the light in his optics at the end: he was _at_ peace. He was ready.

The same could not be said for Prowl. He'd heard too much, much too much, and all of him, every bit of him, wanted to run back to the _Ark_ and finish it now, press the rifle to Soundwave's helm and dig it in until the paint scratched and he grunted in pain and the last thing Soundwave knew before he offlined was that he, Prowl, had beaten him. Or, take the virus, the virus Wheeljack had coded so perfectly, and watch as Soundwave's processor burned and melted from inside his helm, dying in shaking and convulsions and screams as he fell to the deck. There were too many memories pressing in on his soul, too many ghosts, too much about the insurgents he'd battled so long ago, the bombings, the betrayal, the Decepticons, Praxus. Bluestreak's anguish tore at his insides, even now. He'd been there afterward, sifting through the rubble, but Bluestreak had survived.

There was a dark part of him, however, a mad, dark part of him that had heard too much. Too much of Soundwave's words. Too much of his voice. Too much of his scars, and his darkness, and his spark. He'd seen, in a twisted, primeval way, how the darkness within Soundwave had taken shape, had manifested. He'd been on the end of it, even, more times than he knew throughout his life. And… he knew how that felt. Knew the primitive call of that utter hatred, perfect and pure.

It was utter insanity, and he wondered if perhaps he was the one slowly going mad. He'd thought it was the world; no, it had to be him. He was now insane. Darkness and disquiet gave way to despair and doubt, and then veered, dangerously, near a reckoning.

Was Soundwave any better than the other Decepticons? Was he merely a terrorist, a murderer amongst murders? A monster amongst other monsters? Or, was he a monster who did not want to be a murderer, but had been fashioned so, made so, by twisted circumstances, darkness and betrayal and death, far beyond his control? Where did the end cause lie?

Or, did the words of Decepticons change as they approached their death?

Or, was it Jazz? Would Soundwave have taken this course of action if not for Jazz? He spoke of finding "something worth living for," and had spoken proudly of his attempts against the Decepticons. He'd never retracted the intelligence he'd passed along, itself a damming action, traitorous. How deep was this spark change? Deep enough for his spike to slide into Jazz, a quick 'face in amongst the trees every few days? Or deeper?

Dare he even think it? Dare he consider it? Dare the thought ever cross his processor? Prowl froze, utterly stuck between what he believed in and what he hated, what he yearned for, deliciously, and what disgusted him, what he had done, what he'd survived, and what he could do. Perhaps, should do. All of it, tumbling and swirling, ever changing, fluctuating.

Sideswipe stepped close to his side, silent, but there. He was a presence, warm, solid, strong, there beside him in the darkness of the night. Prowl glanced sidelong, staring at the red twin. Sideswipe's face was turned up, staring at the starlight and the tiny pinpricks, so far off. One of those was Cybertron. In a flash, Prowl could see Sideswipe running through the streets of wherever he was from, a happy laugh falling easily from his lips, clutching a sparkler in his grubby hands. How did Sideswipe do it? How did he grow up in the midst of their planet falling apart at the seams, and yet, still hold to that same childlike wonder that kept him staring at the stars? That kept him coming back to Prowl, dedicated in a way that Prowl had rarely seen. It was an affection that he didn't deserve.

But he had it, inexplicably. Sideswipe turned, the moonlight once again casting perfect shadows and light across his face. He smiled, though it didn't reach his optics. There he was again, trying to make everything better for Prowl.

Swallowing, Prowl turned. "We need to head back," he called out, his voice hoarse. "There's someone we need to talk to."

* * *

It had always amazed Jazz how perfectly right the universe felt after making love with Soundwave. He couldn't deny the quiet solitude that pervaded his spark whenever they were holding each other close or resting in each other's arms after the perfection of their lovemaking. There was never a time when he'd felt closer to another mech as when he did with Soundwave, and the whole time it felt as if they were trying to physically climb into each other's bodies, remove all the separations that kept them apart. They'd been so far apart, so separated by factions and war and divided loyalties that when they were together, _oh_, they were together.

It had been rushed at first, the frenzied need to feel one another again. It had been too long, separated by anger and then capture and flight, then capture again. Jazz straddled Soundwave's lap as he rested his shackled hands behind Soundwave's helm, around his neck, and Soundwave did his best to grasp at his hip, though his hands were similarly bound and restrained. They rocked on top of each other, gasping into mouths while lips pressed together in fevered, frenzied kisses. He gasped, shuddered, pitching forward, and then his release was upon him, moments before Soundwave tipped over the edge as well.

They lounged together, Soundwave leaning up against the bulkhead as Jazz splayed out across his chest. Their engines rumbled softly, happy afterglows pulsing through their bodies. If they forgot the brig, the darkness, and the shackles, it was almost normal. Normal, even, for them.

Finally, Soundwave stirred, turning to Jazz. Jazz's optics were offline, his visor dark, and his shackled hands were trying to press into Soundwave's chest, as if feeling his spark. Soundwave stared, his optics roaming over Jazz's plating, the curves of his body, his helm. Such beauty, such grace, undeserved.

Jazz could feel Soundwave's gaze. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"A necessary query?" Soundwave's humor was dry. Still, Jazz smirked and pushed himself up, his hands staying on Soundwave's chest.

"'Least we're not hiding anymore." Jazz shrugged, feigning ease. His smile never made it past his lips. He nudged his lover's hip. "What's on your processor?"

"Statement of earlier," Soundwave began slowly. "Explain the origins." His voice twisted upward faintly at the end, more an uncertain question than a commanding statement.

"What? What'd I'd say?"

"Your feelings of pride." Soundwave paused, his optics flicking to Jazz's visor and holding. "For me."

A long, heavy sigh was his answer as Jazz sat back on Soundwave's thighs as his hands dropped to his lap. Jazz's helm tilted sideways while he stared, regarding Soundwave carefully. "Do you doubt what I said?" Jazz asked.

Soundwave shook his helm. "Negative." Jazz's words were often hastily said, bitten off between rushes of emotion and feeling. But, his declarations had been true and steady, and since Jazz's declaration of devotion and love, he'd never wavered, not once, from their joined path, doomed as it was. "Statement: confounding."

Again, Jazz's helm tilted to the side. "Why?"

"My actions." Soundwave shook his helm again. "My life: not pleasant. Not decorated." He thought of Prowl, the Autobots' valiant and prodigious war hero and his illustrious warrior past. A gilded-plated hero, that one, for all the Autobots cared for history. Prowl had been Jazz's lover, and yet, somehow, Jazz had turned from that and had chosen him instead. It was inexplicable.

"You didn't seem to regret yourself earlier," Jazz said, his tone deceptively light.

"No regrets," Soundwave mused. "Merely perplexed." He swallowed, staring into Jazz's gaze, turned smoky and incomprehensible. "Your understanding. Your acceptance: unanticipated."

Jazz sighed, his shoulder's slumping, and he reached for Soundwave's clasped hands with his, threading their fingers together. "Soundwave, I don't love you because of your actions." Soundwave stilled, though only the most perceptive mech would see it. "Or even in spite of them." Jazz swallowed, forcing the rest of his words past his clenching gears. "I love you because of how you live with it, and what you're doing now."

Soundwave frowned, staring back at Jazz. "Presently?"

Jazz nodded, and when he spoke, he barely had any power to his words. "Standing behind your actions. What you've done. _Standing_. _Proud_."

Silence strung out, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Soundwave couldn't break his gaze from Jazz's, and the air seemed thin all around. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. Grace upon grace, here at the end. The end of everything, the end of his miserable life, and the one mech he'd loved was loving him back, approbation and a benediction, all wrapped up in one. He'd done nothing, nothing at all, to warrant this, and yet, it was his. It was incredible, in the end. The act of loving, of being loved, changed everything. Made life and everything in it bearable. Worthwhile. Made it acceptable, even, to die. For this.

Slowly, Soundwave nuzzled Jazz's face with his own, a soft exhale ghosting over Jazz's plating. Jazz leaned into the touch, trying to find some of the peace Soundwave seemed to carry, some of that benediction he saw dancing in his visor and his gaze. Their lips pressed over plating, over cheeks, then lips, then were hungrily devouring, glossa and denta frantically trying to push aside all boundaries, make them as one. Hands rose, Jazz caressing Soundwave's chin guard and cheeks around their kiss as Soundwave did the same. Breaths gave way to gasps, then further kisses, nuzzles and caresses. It was nothing and everything to slide together once again, their lovemaking as easy and tumultuous as living.

* * *

_In whose hands lay the power? Whose hands? _Prowl's processor spun on, crunching his thoughts as bitterly and as they came, as raggedly as he drove, his tires spraying up dust and debris behind him in waves. In whose hands lay the power to forgive? Or the privilege?

It wasn't his, by Primus. What right, what gall, did he have in even thinking these thoughts? It sickened him in equal measures, trying to uncover what was occurring. Was he weakening? Was he rationalizing? Was he growing too close to the darkness, the madness within?

There was only one mech, only one, who had any sort of power, any sort of right, to grant this most unspeakable thought. The power, the right of forgiveness lay in the hands of the aggrieved, the injured, the destroyed parties. In truth, it lay in the hands of the dead, but they weren't around for this little decision. They were dead. They were gone. They were gone in the fires of Praxus and the gutters of insurgent Kaon and the blackness of their dead world, and nothing would ever right that.

At the end of all things, when everything in the universe had met it's end and the final moments of the Matrix had come to pass, when all beings were weighed and measured and judged, how could those treasured dead face their killer, if he were graced with forgiveness? If Soundwave were granted forgiveness?

How could Prowl, even, face them, after thinking this thought? Merely contemplating the thought, merely thinking the act, was enough to unseat the bare fragments of his spark remaining. How could he, on the last day, face those who had died, his fellow Praxians, his fellow enforcers, his Autobot comrades, and say… _I pardoned your murderer_. _I pardoned your killer._ It was blasphemy. It was evil, the very thought.

Only one mech still alive could think the thought with any justice, and Prowl was about to see him. He and Sideswipe had driven too fast, horrifyingly fast for a rule-abider as himself, and returned to the _Ark_. Sideswipe had assured him he knew where he was, and after a quiet, hushed conversation, led Prowl through the darkened corridors. Prowl didn't dare check his chronometer, but the utter stillness must have meant it was the dead of night. _Sideswipe has been here the whole time._

Only a moment, and they were outside the twins' quarters. Sideswipe reached for the doorpad and palmed their way in, gesturing for Prowl to lead the way. He stepped within, and then froze, his resolve dieing in its tracks as his energon shorted, turning to hardened ice in his lines.

It was one thing to know. It was another thing to see, truly see, another's grief. Another's pain. The agony of having survived.

Bluestreak was huddled on Sunstreaker's berth, soft whimpers and tiny cries mixed with pained gasps falling from his lips. His optics had long ago ceased to hold any color. They were white, blindingly so, shockingly so, ragged and frantic. His hands were clasped to Sunstreaker's, fingers squeezing tight. The golden twin was kneeling before Bluestreak on one knee, speaking soft words in an endless stream of meek comfort. He didn't know what to do anymore, or what to say. Bluestreak was lost in his grief now, clinging to the last grasp of reality he'd struggled with for years.

"Don't leave me, please," Bluestreak begged, whispering. "Sunstreaker, don't leave me."

"I won't, I won't, I'm here." Sunstreaker pressed a quick kiss to Bluestreak's knuckles. "I'm here."

"No," Bluestreak shook his helm. "You're going to die, like everyone else. Everyone always dies! Everyone always dies, and I'm always alone! Primus! Why can't I die too?" He gasped, hiccupping, and the sobs began anew.

_Obscene was a word used to casually in the world_, Prowl suddenly thought. It was a word that was tossed about when it shouldn't, when it needn't apply. The hatred within Prowl bloomed, blossomed, growing to proportions he didn't know he could hold, never fathomed he had within him. Soundwave's words from the tribunal echoed in his processor, words of his own hatred, how it consumed him, filled him, ate him alive.

Oh, it did so now, within Prowl, in the most delicious way. Soundwave's imminent death suddenly filled him with pleasure, with ragged, unquenchable joy. His death was a tantalizing wish, one so fierce he could taste it, perfectly and bitter. He'd revel in it, when the time came. He'd enjoy it. He knew he would.

_That would make it better for Bluestreak,_ he decided. _Vengeance._

Sideswipe shifted beside Prowl, nervous, before he scooted around him and moved to his brother's side. Sunstreaker grunted as Sideswipe's hand fell to his shoulder, but he never broke optic contact with Bluestreak, never broke from his vigil before his lover. "I'm here, Blue," Sunstreaker whispered, his voice too-deep.

"You shouldn't be," Bluestreak whispered. Trembles were falling over his body again, the shaking starting suddenly, violently. "You shouldn't be. I'm dangerous. Everybody dies around me." He gasped, trying suddenly to pull away from Sunstreaker's grip. Sunstreaker lunged forward, clinging to Bluestreak's hands and arms as he had done throughout the night. "That's why I pushed you away!" Bluestreak suddenly shouted. "You're going to die! You're going to die because of me! You're going to leave me all alone!"

"Blue!" Sunstreaker tried to shout over Bluestreak, tried to grasp at his flailing arms. "I'm not going anywhere!" he growled. "You're not making any sense!"

Bluestreak grunted, a primal urge of pain and rage, and tried to twist away. Sunstreaker shoved up, bodily pressing himself close to Bluestreak until the gunner went limp and collapsed against Sunstreaker, sobbing in exhaustion for the time being.

Prowl was still frozen, rooted to the spot, as Sideswipe cleared his throat and spoke. "Bluestreak," he choked out. "Prowl has something he needs to ask you." Sideswipe trailed off.

It took a moment, but finally, Bluestreak looked up, unpeeling himself from his clutch around Sunstreaker and raising his destroyed face. Sunstreaker's arms settled around Bluestreak, holding him awkwardly as Bluestreak faced Prowl. "What is it?" Bluestreak whispered, weak.

Prowl hated himself, in that moment, for asking. He was lost in his own darkness, his own sins, and reveling in the murder he was yet to commit. "Bluestreak," he grunted. "I need to know, since it is your voice that matters most, as the victim. What is it that you want?" Prowl swallowed. "For Soundwave. For Jazz. The tribunal."

It was a question Bluestreak hadn't been expecting. He stared at Prowl for a long moment, utterly frozen, utterly still, and then began to shake once again. Sunstreaker's hands stroked up his arms as he glared at Prowl.

Bluestreak's words, however, shocked Sunstreaker. "I had always wondered," he began, shaking. "How I'd react, if I ever found the mech who did… _that_ to my home. I've kept this in for so long, dreaming of what I wanted to do." Bluestreak shook his helm, shuddering. "I have so much _rage_… and _hurt_… and _panic_. I never know which way to turn or which way to go. There is _nothing_ but darkness." Bluestreak gasped again, shuddering, and Sunstreaker threw another ugly glare Prowl's way.

"I know, Blue," Prowl growled. He wasn't capable of civilized conduct, not any longer. "I know. That's why it ends. Tomorrow." Finality flashed in his optics.

Bluestreak stilled, staring up at Prowl with too-wide optics. "Not you, too," he murmured, so softly only the twins could hear. "Not you." he repeated. Somewhere between Prowl's dangerous optics and Bluestreak's constant, ceaseless running, Bluestreak finally decided to stop. This wasn't real, this wasn't life, and this wasn't Prowl before him. This wasn't Sunstreaker beside him. He stopped everything, for just a moment, and exhaled, letting himself fall into Sunstreaker's arms. Sunstreaker grunted, squeezing tight, and Bluestreak found the strength to inhale again. Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker, what would he do without Sunstreaker? He'd been clinging to him for so long, never telling him what he so desperately needed. The game was up now, though. And still, Sunstreaker was there, with him.

"Do you know what I hate the most, Prowl?" Bluestreak whispered. "I hate the _hate_. I don't like being this way. I've _tried_ to be different, tried to… distract myself." He pressed his hand into Sunstreaker's, not seeing Sunstreaker's small, pained frown. "I feel like a _monster,_ Prowl. A beast. I _can't_ control myself, not any more. I _feel_ things _wrong_. I can't feel things right." He sighed, letting everything out, and clung to Sunstreaker. Maybe Sunstreaker would be there when he was done speaking. Maybe he'd still be around. Maybe.

"I lost myself, Prowl," Bluestreak continued, his whispers growing stronger, turning to grunts, more animal than mech. "I've lost everything. I can't even feel anymore." Sad optics turned to Sunstreaker, still blindingly white. "Not even the mech I should love."

Sunstreaker's spark clenched at that, too-hard. He grunted, then tried awkwardly to continue to comfort Bluestreak. He swallowed, looking away.

"There is evil in the world, Prowl," Bluestreak grunted. "And I slipped into it. The entire universe seems to be slipping into it. Soundwave is one mech who got lost. The Decepticons, too. They lost themselves, lost their sparks, their souls. They're evil, Prowl." He swallowed, cringing.

"I know, Blue," Prowl growled. "I know. And they're going to pay. They're going to die. These things demand justice." _And hatred._

Unbelievably, Bluestreak started shaking his helm. "I always wondered how I would react if I ever found the Decepticon who did it," he grunted. "I dreamed of what I'd do to him and how I make him pay." Bluestreak shook his helm again. "Now, I'm just tired." Static welled up in his vocalizer again, choking his words. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

Prowl frowned, confused, and Sideswipe glanced helplessly back at Prowl. "We're going to make it better, Bluestreak. I promise." Prowl grunted. He turned, heading for the door.

"Stop, Prowl!" Bluestreak's shout was plaintive, a mixture of pleading and anger.

Prowl turned back, staring at Bluestreak with empty, hardened optics.

Bluestreak's expression shifted, melting, and he whispered a soft plea back to Prowl. "I don't want to lose you, too. Don't turn on me."

"I'm here, Bluestreak," Prowl growled again. Bluestreak was speaking nonsense to Prowl, and none of it was penetrating his violent haze. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were staring at each other, harsh optics and unreadable words flying back and forth. "We're going to fix this." Prowl turned away again.

"There is a fine line between justice and vengeance, Prowl." Sunstreaker finally spoke up, though his voice was unrecognizable. Dark words, growled over a too-harsh vocalizer, grunted past a hateful expression. Sunstreaker's optics, flashing with a rarely-seen, deeply-buried madness, flashed across their quarters.

Prowl stopped, but didn't turn around.

"I _know_ what you want to do. I _know_ what you want to feel. I _know_ how badly you can taste it." Sunstreaker squeezed at Bluestreak's hands before he pushed himself to his feet. "I've gone down this road, Prowl." Sunstreaker started moving slowly toward Prowl. "Go. Kill Soundwave. Kill them both. Open their lines and let all their energon flow out. Run your hands through it, cover your body in their warm fluids, bathe in their fading energon. Destroy their offline bodies, tear them to shreds and scatter their pieces across the planet. Keep a souvenir." Sunstreaker crossed the room, standing just behind Prowl, inches apart. He leaned close. "I _know _you want to. I can see it."

Prowl was silent. His helm turned, glancing sidelong over his shoulder at Sunstreaker.

"Let me know how righteous you feel when you online the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after." Sunstreaker's gaze darkened as he turned back to Bluestreak. "I've done terrible things," he grunted. "Dark things. Bad things. I could be on trial, just like Soundwave." It hurt, speaking truth to those words, but he forced himself to admit it, and to hold Bluestreak's gaze as he did so. "I love you, Bluestreak, and I've done things to other mechs that equal the pain you're feeling. And I can't change that."

"I know," Bluestreak whispered, nodding. "I know."

"Go ahead Prowl. Let yourself go. Become a beast. A monster. Let your energon lust and hatred consume you. You will become what you hate. You will become Soundwave." Sunstreaker held Prowl's optics, turned black with rage. "You will."

"It's easier to hate in the abstract, Prowl," Bluestreak whispered. His optics lingered on Sunstreaker's body, lingering over his hands and the long lines of his legs.

Slowly, Sunstreaker met Bluestreak's gaze, a different nervousness shining from within. Bluestreak swallowed and held out his hand. An astrosecond later, and Sunstreaker was grasping his hand, kneeling before him again, and kissing his open palm. Bluestreak folded himself around Sunstreaker, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as Sunstreaker's helm pressed to his chest. They locked themselves together, rocking back and forth, and any observer would be hard pressed to figure which one needed the other more.

"I'm done here," Prowl grunted. For the final time, he turned to leave, striding toward the door. Sideswipe's soft footfalls followed him back into the corridor in silence.

* * *

They never stopped making love.

Jazz gasped around Soundwave's kisses, losing himself to the pleasure. Soundwave's arms were wrapped around his body, and though his wrists were shackled, he still tried to run his fingers over as much of Jazz's plating as he could. Jazz's hands stayed on Soundwave's helm, his fingers running over his face, his plating, and down to cup his cheek and neck. Over and over, they never stopped. They couldn't stop. It was their last night, but that was just fine. This was the culmination of their life, the point and purpose to their existence. Loving, and being loved. Working together. Trying for peace.

It was an acceptable reason to die.

"Jazz…" Soundwave breathed a ragged exhale as his lips dragged over Jazz's chin. Jazz shivered in his arms, rolling his helm against Soundwave's. Soundwave pressed another kiss to Jazz's cheek as his hands rose, cupping Jazz's helm. "Jazz," he whispered again, this time hesitant.

All at once, the brig melted away, their dark surroundings replaced by a slow haze. Their surroundings drew into focus, emerging from the fog all around as Jazz pulled back, still sitting in Soundwave's lap. His optics narrowed. "Where are we?"

It all came into sharp relief a moment later, the familiar walls encircling a large double berth, set against a bay window overlooking the night landscape of the Cybertron wilderness and a dusky skyline of Iacon.

Jazz whipped around, staring at their former shared home. "How is this possible?"

Soundwave's hands stroked down Jazz's back, still shackled. There were many things he could create in their fantasy, but the illusion of freedom was not one of them. "Rebuilt world through memories," Soundwave whispered. "Tried to recreate everything exactly as it was." He shifted. "Telepathic connection established."

Jazz gaped at their berthroom, out the windows, peered over the edge of their loft. The room below was exactly as they'd left it, tools on their long table, the bench slightly askew. A soft light had been left on in the kitchen, and he could almost hear the soft hum of the refrigeration unit. He turned back to Soundwave, his mouth agape.

"Is this acceptable?"

"Soundwave," Jazz's chained hands rose to stroke over Soundwave's cheek. "This is perfect."

Soundwave breathed a sigh of relief as he pressed close to Jazz again, capturing his lips in another heated kiss. Jazz sat back, bound hands stroking over Soundwave's chest, and smiled down at his lover. "Soundwave."

"Query?" Soundwave grasped Jazz's fingers, stroking his thumbs over Jazz's palms.

Jazz leaned down, kissing him tenderly. His lips were soft and warm against Soundwave's, lazy. His chestplates split open without so much as a word, without a reaction, without a shift in his kiss, and Soundwave was entirely unprepared for the sight or the sensation. He rocketed back, pressing as flat as he could against the berth.

"Jazz! State the reasons for your actions."

"Soundwave," Jazz smiled again, leaning close for another kiss. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Impossible."

"Negative," Jazz whispered, cupping Soundwave's cheek. "I refuse to face my death without being as close to you as possible. I _love_ you, Soundwave. I want to spend the rest of my life bonded to you. Whether that means till tomorrow or to the end of time."

Soundwave exhaled, long and slow, caught in the swirl of his own crazed thoughts. This was impossible, and yet there it was staring him in the face. It was nothing he'd ever expected, everything he'd ever dreamed. Primus, this was too much, much too much. Jazz, offering this to him? Unfathomable. Unacceptable. Undeniable.

Soundwave's hands clenched down on Jazz's, nearly crushing them as his entire body began to tremble. "This course: never before anticipated. Never before desired."

"Do you want this? Do you want to bond your life to mine?"

How could Soundwave answer that question? He couldn't, not ever. He couldn't speak those words. Instead, he nodded, jerking his helm unsteadily up and down, not believing that this was a choice that he was allowed to make. His hands squeezed down on Jazz's again, their fingers threading together.

Jazz leaned forward, a soft smile playing at his lips as he bent for another kiss. "You're going to need to open your spark too, then, Soundwave."

Soundwave' gears clenched. He stared back at Jazz, fighting his panic and fear. Slowly, he nodded, and tried to press trembling lips against Jazz's. Jazz's certainty, his warmth and his love, helped ease him, and he relaxed into Jazz's surrounding presence. He exhaled, suddenly needing all of Jazz, and surged forward for more. Jazz responded in kind, their passion escalating, and suddenly, Soundwave's chestplates were splitting apart, cracking open as they never had before. He gasped, nearly screamed, groaning with the feeling as his spark flared outward. Jazz's spark surged as well, tendrils reaching down for Soundwave.

Their sparks twisted together, slow fibers connecting with perfect precision, merging and becoming one. Shared sighs breathed out between a long, lazy kiss, and Soundwave's trembles faded away. He reached up, cupping Jazz's face in between his hands. Their sparks roared together. Gasps turned to moans, then soft sighs bleeding into murmurs of love. Their sparks remained locked, merging into one as their bodies rode the rhythms and cadences of their love. The world faded away, their shared telepathic fantasy, the reality of the brig, their imprisonment, and all the rest of their world gone so terribly wrong.

For now, it was just the two of them.

* * *

They ended up back in the Rec Room, as inexplicably as ever. Prowl returned to the dead space of the tribunal, Sideswipe on his heels. Neither mech spoke as Prowl moved to the center of the Rec Room, only the soft hiss of the closing doors piercing their audials.

There were ghosts in this room. Prowl could feel them. Ghosts of the past, of all the mechs that had died in their long war. Ghosts of his comrades, Ghosts of civilians. Ghosts of former slaves, even, too. Child ghosts. Decepticon ghosts. All of them crowded around Prowl, pressing at his shoulders, pulling on his spark. This was their time, he supposed. The dead of night, the night before an execution. This was the time of the dead. They stood before him, and stood behind him, long lines of death stretching ever onward.

Where would it stop?

Sideswipe stepped into Prowl's field of vision, standing to his side as he stared over the empty room. What was Sideswipe seeing, Prowl wondered. How long until Sideswipe too passed into the time of the dead?

"There has to be an answer," Prowl grunted. He'd lost touch with his voice sometime that evening. It was a permanent growl now, rough and grating.

"Did Bluestreak help?" Sideswipe peered at Prowl.

Prowl turned away, staring at the dais and the spray-painted dockets that had held Soundwave and Jazz. "I wanted him to take the choice away from me," Prowl grunted. "I wanted him to _beg_ me for their death. I wanted him to want it as much as I do."

Sideswipe nodded, slowly moving closer to Prowl. "Bluestreak is a complicated mech, but at his spark, he's not evil. He never was."

"What of Sunstreaker?" Prowl stared Sideswipe down, his optics narrowing.

Sighing, Sideswipe shook his helm. "He's not so complicated. He's just trying to find something good. Something he can believe in."

Prowl stared back at Sideswipe. "Is there anything left to believe in at all anymore?" Sideswipe frowned, but said nothing. "How can the universe have gone so wrong?" Prowl shook his helm. The weight of the universe was suddenly pressing on his shoulders, as sure as the weight of the dead, steering him toward an end he couldn't see. Destiny and forever hung in the air.

"It's not the universe, Prowl," Sideswipe tried to say. "The universe is a good place."

"Then where is Primus?" Prowl whirled on Sideswipe, his optics aflame. "Where is he? How does the universe go so wrong, if there's that kind of good out there?" Prowl scowled. "It goes all the way back, Sideswipe. All of it, the war, the Decepticons, everything. What were we created for, Sideswipe? Primus created us as _soldiers_, as warriors against Unicron. We were bred and born to fight. We were created to kill. To destroy." He growled, his optics narrowing. "Is it any wonder that we've devolved into war time after time after time?"

"That's not the only reason we were created-"

Again, Prowl cut Sideswipe off. "We've been abandoned. Primus is_ gone_. What hope is there anymore, when all around us is this mess?" This time, Sideswipe was silent, and Prowl turned away, shaking his helm as he grunted in disgust.

"How can you say that?" Sideswipe said back, his voice firm. "How can you say you're alone?"

"We _are_ alone, Sideswipe."

"No, that's not true." Sideswipe shook his helm, glaring at Prowl. "I've seen too much to know that's not true-"

Prowl snorted, scoffing. "You say this night is Primus's night on Cybertron? Celebrate all you want, but it's a dead legend and an old fantasy."

"Primus is with us as long as we keep the faith." They were almost shouting now, voices rising across the Rec Room.

"Where was Primus when Bluestreak was huddling next to death, squashed in the ruins of Praxus?"

"He's there, whether you believe it or not. Bluestreak, despite everything, knows that."

Prowl scoffed again, snarling as his doorwings flared. It was easy to pick a raging fight, to wound Sideswipe again. Too easy. "You know, Sideswipe, I heard the same things from the Decepticons when I was fighting them in Kaon. When you were running around with a sparkler in your hand, I was fighting real evil. I wasn't looking for salvation or searching some divine answer! My friends, my comrades were dying, and I had to be the savior. I had to save them, and I couldn't!" Prowl was roaring now, his face raging right into Sideswipe's.

"You are such a control freak," Sideswipe growled. "Do you ever trust in anything or anyone outside of yourself?"

Prowl's spark guttered. "Look where 'trusting someone' got me." He swallowed, and Sideswipe stayed silent. " I'm sure you're just the mech to try to teach me how to trust again." Prowl's voice was scathing.

Sideswipe's optics flared as his engine gave a loud pull. "I do love you, and I promised you I would keep that to myself. But Prowl, I _know_, in the deepest part of my spark, that loving you is _right_. That it's a gift from Primus-"

"Oh, Primus!" Prowl threw his arms up and turned away.

"Primus exists because we all carry a part of him with us. Our sparks, Prowl!" Sideswipe followed after him. "Our sparks tie us to Primus!" He grabbed him by his shoulders as Prowl's doorwings flattened, and in one quick move, Sideswipe twirled him around, holding him steady with his hands on his shoulders.

Prowl's optics flashed, raging white-bright, and he tried to break free of Sideswipe's grasp. "I don't have a spark anymore!"

Sideswipe wasn't letting go. His fingers gripped at Prowl's plating, denting the smooth metal. Prowl growled, snarling as he tried to pull away again. "That's not true," Sideswipe whispered. He tried to find Prowl's gaze, but all he saw was blind rage. "Prowl…"

Growling, Prowl lunged to the side, but the fight had gone out of him. There was nothing there but raw wounds and aching holes, a wilderness flayed open deep within. He'd been fighting for so long, for the length of his life, and now, fighting this, ever since Jazz's fist flew at his face. He'd been fighting, always fighting, and suddenly, it was too much. The labyrinth of his spark was screaming, a void of pain that shrieked for absolution.

Prowl's knees buckled as he fell forward, sagging into Sideswipe's grasp. His optics darkened, offlining as he gasped a ragged, terrible inhale. Something let loose within him, some kink undone, some floodgate unleashed, and suddenly, everything came crashing free, a lifetime of mourning. It was agonizing, as was everything else he'd bottled for his lifetime, but it was the first release he'd ever had. It all came out, wave upon wave of anguish, as Prowl sagged into Sideswipe's arms.

The sobs kept coming, flowing onward. Sideswipe staggered back under the force of Prowl's collapse until he backed their tangled bodies against the bulkhead. He grunted as they hit, then slid down in a long slide. Prowl's heaving body melted into his, electric sobs bursting free from their shackled restraints, held so close and firm for oh so long.

Prowl's processor spun. It wasn't he that had gone mad. It was the world. How had the world gone so irretrievably wrong? There was nothing, nothing at all, to believe in anymore. How could he go on in a world gone so topsy-turvey, so upside down? There had to be an escape, a rational answer to this problem. Where was his certainty? Lost, gone forever, it seemed, lost to pain and rage and death. Hands clamored at Prowl's shoulders, the hands of the dead, pressing on him inexorably, forcing him to face them.

Sideswipe's arms wrapped around him. "I'm here," Sideswipe whispered. "I'm here."

And there, in all the madness, all the crazed tumult of the world, was Sideswipe. Prowl's fingers clenched down on Sideswipe's arm, digging into plating with a vice grip. His body heaved, another sob crashing out of him with electric static. Why was Sideswipe still here? How? How could Sideswipe, in the midst of all of Prowl's darkness, all of his madness, still claim to love him? He deserved none of it, none of his love, none of his support, none of his understanding or his forgiveness. He deserved to fall into the void, into the blackness that Bluestreak had warned him away from.

Bluestreak should have saved his voice. The darkness was already within Prowl. The darkness was Prowl.

Prowl clung to Sideswipe, the last hold he had, as the sobs carried him to a soul-deep exhaustion that crashed in all around. Darkness swallowed him whole, pulling him offline, but Sideswipe's gentle strokes and soft whispers softened the suffocating depths as he slipped underneath its pull.

* * *

The one thing Jazz never, ever forgot about his house with Soundwave was the sunrise. Their view from their loft berth overlooking the wild plains and far-off Iacon was directly situated in the path of the rising sun. The spikes of pinks and golds would tip over the horizon as tantalizing teases that gave way to a rose blush, then a purple stain, and finally, the flash of daybreak itself. It was perfection to witness, and Jazz had savored every moment of it as he had lain in Soundwave's arms, relaxing after lovemaking and watching the lazy sunrise.

Now, he did so again, watching the first tinge of pink creep over the sky, backlighting the scraping towers of Iacon. Soundwave was tucked in behind him, his shackled hands pressed against the small of his back.

A lazy, satiated feeling of contentment tumbled over Jazz's spark, followed by a quiet lassitude. Warmth trailed behind, soul-deep. Jazz didn't know who felt it first, or if it even mattered who did. They both shared the feeling, and Jazz grinned at that. "I agree," he whispered over his shoulder, speaking to the emotions slowly rolling over his spark.

Soundwave smiled, looking down at Jazz. His optics were clear, sparkling and refracting a thousand different emotions of happiness he'd never felt before. His blastshield was retracted, a small smile, foreign and alien, turning up the corners of his lips. "Perfection," Soundwave whispered.

"I agree," Jazz said again, breathing a soft chuckle. Soundwave bent for a kiss, slow and lazy, and then pulled back, gazing at the light pouring over Jazz's body. His white paint shifted, glowing with all the colors of the pre-sunrise, shifting from one to the other in the dim, faded light.

"Dawn," Soundwave said, a moment later, "approaches. One hour, six minutes."

"That's alright." Jazz smiled, as easily as he ever did. "We're still going to be together in the end."

"Last wish: that I could save you." Soundwave's optics darkened, the pain of knowing their fate weighing down upon him.

"Shhhh," Jazz whispered, pressing another kiss against Soundwave's lips to silence him. "You did save me. We tried for something greater. I do not regret that. I do not regret this."

The sun continued to rise without the lovers as Soundwave bent for another lingering kiss. The minutes ticked down, one by one, as they lay entwined in their cold, dark cell, waiting for the dawn.

* * *

Prowl dreamed in energon. Rivers of it, floods of it, warm and wet and sticky, flowing all around. He was bathing in it, running his fingers through the hot liquid, screaming his joy at the carnage surrounding him. It coated his plating, dripped from his doorwings, and he knew, he _knew_, he was the victor.

From somewhere in the distance, he could hear sobbing, plaintive and weak. Prowl tried to move toward it, but the energon flow was too strong around him, and he could only dimly see through the purple haze of crackling electricity.

Finally, he saw: Bluestreak's mangled body lay, pinned beneath rubble.

"Bluestreak!" he hollered. "Bluestreak, I'm coming!" Prowl tried, moving as fast as he could, but he never seemed to move closer. The energon swirled around him, holding him back. Growling in frustration, Prowl could only watch as Bluestreak's body faded away. He slapped at the energon bloodbath he was standing in, gleeful at the warmth coursing through his fingers.

In the distance, another voice called out, shouting for Prowl. "Prowl!" The voice kept calling, searching desperately. Prowl turned, grunting as he tried to pinpoint the source, a hunter's optic peering through his murderous haze.

Sideswipe appeared, far off, shouting. "Prowl, where are you?" Sideswipe was racing around, desperation coursing from his body, panic breaking his words. "Prowl! Please! Come back!"

"It's too late." Next to Prowl, Sunstreaker appeared, moving in the river of energon as well. His fingers were trailing over the surface, dipping into the warmth before rising to let droplets of the fluid fall in tiny waterfalls from his fingertips. Sunstreaker watched every drop. "It's too late, brother," Sunstreaker said again, his optics fixing to Prowl. "He's gone."

Sideswipe, in the murky distance, collapsed to his knees, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'm here!" Prowl tried to shout. "I'm here!" All that came out were grunts, guttural and vicious.

Beside him, Sunstreaker rose, walking out of the river of energon in slow, even steps, rising to join his brother in the distance. Prowl tried to follow, but his footing slipped, and he plunged into the energon over and over.

Bluestreak appeared again, this time glowing and ethereal, taking Sunstreaker by the hand and guiding him to Sideswipe. Together the three stood, and then moved away, walking away from Prowl without looking back. Silence fell over the river, until the lapping of the energon and the crackling of the electricity, electricity of the lives of so many mechs, swarmed around Prowl. He tried to run, tried to escape, but the energon was sticky and warm and it pulled him down, dragged him back, dragged him deeper until he was sinking. He was pulled down past his chest, his shoulders, and then his helm. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, but the energon poured into his mouth, bitter and metal-sharp, choking him entirely.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Prowl woke with a shout, sitting bolt upright as his nightmare fled. His hands flew to his neck, his mouth, then down to his chest. No energon, no clawing masses of warmth and darkness. He gasped, his vents heaving, and he pitched forward, resting on his hands as he sat on the decking.

A noise behind him startled Prowl. Sideswipe was slumped back against the bulkhead, exhaustion marring his frame. A Prowl-sized bent to Sideswipe's arms, hanging now at his sides, spoke to where Prowl had fallen offline. He frowned. How could Sideswipe still be there? Primus, how did he earn such devoted affection? Sideswipe claimed he loved Prowl. Prowl had thought, once, that he'd loved Jazz, as deeply as anyone could ever love a mech. But, would he have stayed up all night, stayed next to Jazz's side, comforted him, held him, and kept him safe, while Jazz was tortured over thoughts of another?

The answer, unfortunately, was not. Prowl had followed Jazz into Decepticon hands as Jazz trailed after Soundwave, but he hadn't done so out of any noble or high-held reason. He'd done it to save Jazz, and end Soundwave, and get Jazz back to rights. Sideswipe had followed as well, but he'd followed for an entirely different reason. A much better one. He'd followed out of affection. Devotion. Love.

Sighing, Prowl scooted out of Sideswipe's reach and turned, still sitting on the decking, just enough to watch Sideswipe as he recharged. His nightmare flashed back, painful echoes of Sideswipe's misery and abandonment playing in loops.

Prowl offlined his optics against the echoes, shaking his helm. Primus, he could still feel the lust for the energon, the surge of power, the perfect feeling of victory as his fingers had trailed through the liquid. He'd _loved_ it. He'd _lusted_ for it. He wanted every bit of it. Prowl had yearned for the deaths of a thousand mechs, a thousand Decepticons. The memories were haunting, lingering in his processor and cascading ever onward.

The silence of the Rec Room was almost deceiving, almost as if the world were letting him stop to process the deluge of agony. It wasn't, of course. The dead were heavy, pressing in on all sides, stifling and suffocating and congregating in all the spaces of Prowl's soul. They circled him, pressing around everything: his life, his future, his command, his crew, the past, his dead comrades, Sideswipe's gentle face, Jazz's traitorous actions, Jazz's death, Soundwave's death, everything, everything at all, circling tight as a noose, strangling the present.

Had he hijacked the Decepticon destiny? Was it him, then, that should be on trial? His energon lust had grown to know no boundaries, no limits. He wanted them all to die. He wanted every one of them, every last Decepticon, every Decepticon sympathizer, every spy, traitor and even non-aligned mech to die. Mechs were with the Autobots, or against the Autobots. He could feel it, pumping in his lines, that conviction. That certainty.

Certainty, however, died a tragic death in the cold reality of the real world. What was certain? What had ever been certain, in Prowl's long life? Not the Parliament. Corruption and nepotism ran rampant, economic sabotage and bare warfare the easy means to cruel ends. The Autobots, at times, though not when their course had seemed lost. Their alliance with the humans, almost never. Jazz, his best friend, turned traitor. Prime, an old mech before his time, burdened with the destinies of an entire race. His logic. Prowl's processor pulled up short at that thought. Logic dictated one certain action in this instance, one decided course. Logic followed set guidelines. Rules were broken, rule-breakers were punished. The law would be upheld. Order would be restored.

Prowl's veering from logic had gotten him into this mess, this soul-draining mess that had left him half-dead of exhaustion on the floor of the Rec Room. Logic had been abandoned long ago, as the wheel turned around and the world turned upside down. There had been one thought, one troubling feeling, that had set it all off: How was Prowl to be both legal and moral at once? How could he uphold both virtues?

The universe as Prowl knew it, unfortunately, did not account for such trifles as feelings.

Prowl sighed as he turned his helm, staring over the Rec Room. The dead were everywhere: images and echoes from his nightmare, long-ago memories of forgotten soldiers and dead comrades, the future deaths of Soundwave and Jazz, and all the Autobots still left to die. Bluestreak's death, Sunstreaker's, Sideswipe's… an endless parade of death, before and behind him. They refused to spare him the pain, instead pressing into his soul, immaterial hands of mourning.

What was there left for him to do? Could he, truly, after all these years and vorns of fighting, expect to change anything? To make any sort of change at all? Could the fighting ever stop? What would happen, on that day when the fighting ceased? How could two parties, two factions so bitterly opposed, so fantastically in hatred of one another, ever reconcile? It was too big a thought, too big an action for one mech.

Prowl turned back to Sideswipe, staring at the young twin. Sideswipe's face was soft in recharge, belying his younger age and granting him the youthful vibrancy that he would have worn so effortlessly had the war not taken that from him. He was still exuberant, to be sure, but he wasn't young, not like he should be. Not anymore.

Prowl sighed again, tilting his helm. What was true, any longer? The faith, the hope? Or the cold reality, the promise of death, of pain, of misery? The expedience of justice? Or upholding ideals? What was the price for holding onto those ideals?

Had Primus, in fact, chosen this moment to test them all?

Sideswipe shifted, a soft sigh falling from his lips as his helm turned, his smooth cheek reflecting the dim lights of the Rec Room. Prowl's gears clenched. There was one certainty left in the world, it seemed.

All that was left was for his conscience to make peace with his soul and to decide on the future together. There was nothing more than that, in the end. The answers didn't lie in the bulkheads, or in the tribunal, or in the transcripts or Soundwave's military record, or in Bluestreak's haunted memories. They lay in silence, and in the spark. He tipped his helm backward, inhaling, and let his optics darken. _Be with your spark. Be with your silence. Be with your darkness. _

The ship was full of pain and grief and loss, too full for any Autobot flagship to have any right. There was a dreadful need for certainty, and for hope, and for a future of promise and victory. There were soul-deep wounds, fissures on the sparks of all the mechs under his command. Bluestreak, bleeding from his soul with grief and pain that he'd hidden for fear of losing everything. Sunstreaker, searching for redemption in being loved, in being valued, unconditionally. Sideswipe, trying to keep the peace and trying to keep the memories of happier times alive. They were losing themselves, bit by bit, in every battle and becoming ghost fighting mechs who had already lost themselves and had already become ghosts long ago. How was it possible to save them all?

_Be with your darkness. Be with your silence. _Prowl stared at Sideswipe's gentle face, waiting for the dawn.

* * *

"Sides?" Smokescreen's rough shake and confused call roused Sideswipe from his all-too-short recharge. He tumbled forward, confused, and tried to grasp at what wasn't there. "Sides, you alright? What the slag are you doing in here?" Smokescreen frowned down at Sideswipe.

"Where's Prowl?" Sideswipe scrambled to his feet, shaking past confusion and his waking processor. "What time is it?" His optics flashed as he whirled on Smokescreen.

"It's six in the morning," Smokescreen replied. "We were going to help set the prisoners up for the sentencing, but it's been delayed."

"Delayed?"

"Yeah." Smokescreen frowned. "Dunno why. Prime sent word from his office this morning. Also, they're not in their cells."

Sideswipe's jaw clenched, his cables bulging as he gritted his denta. "Where is Prowl? Is he alright?"

"He's with Prime, Sides," Smokescreen said, still staring at him confused. "You can't get to him now." He paused, pursing his lips. "Were you here all night?"

"I was with Prowl all night." Sideswipe sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't want him to be alone.

Smokescreen was silent. "What do you think is going on?" He chewed on his lower lip.

Sideswipe shook his helm. "I don't know." He swallowed, staring at the spray-painted docket, starkly outlined against the scuffed plating of the Rec Room.

"Think it's already done?" Smokescreen's words were gruff. "Think they got it over with before dawn? Executed them already?"

Sideswipe stared at Smokescreen. He didn't have an answer for that.

It was hours later that the word came down to assemble in the Rec Room, sent from Prime, who had been ensconced in his office all morning with Prowl and Red Alert. The crew was jumpy, jittery, rumors and conjecture flying every which way. Jazz and Soundwave hadn't been seen since the day before.

It was an odd mixture of relief, horror and a jolt to the spark that lanced through the mechs as they filed into the Rec Room and spotted Jazz and Soundwave, bound and shackled and occupying the same positions as the day before. They stared ahead, impassive and silent, not meeting a mechs' gaze.

Before them, Prime sat at his desk, leaning forward with his hands clasped powerfully on the table's surface. Red Alert sat at his station beside him, looking ill.

Prowl was to Prime's left, utterly still, utterly silent.

Prime's words from only minutes before rang through Prowl's processor. "Are you sure you want to do this, Prowl?"

It had taken a long, long moment to answer, and hi voice was an electric sob. "Yes."

The Rec Room faded away as Prime called the mechs to order. Prowl's audials dimmed, only a haze of noise filling his processor, but his optics searched the crowd, trying to spot the red plating of Sideswipe. Primus, he needed him now. Where was he?

There. Sideswipe pushed through from the back, elbowing his way to the front of the group. Instead of staring at Prime or at the prisoners, Sideswipe's optics fixed permanently to Prowl's, holding his gaze.

"Soundwave and Jazz," Prime began heavily. The world weighed down upon his shoulders, a universe too heavy of pain for one mech alone. "The crimes you have been found guilty of today are as follows: conspiracy and treason. Jazz, you are hereby stripped of your rank and title. Soundwave." Prime sighed, staring at the pair of silent, still mechs before him. "Where would you go if you had your choice?"

Confusion broke across the room, murmurs and wild whispers. Soundwave froze, his optics sliding sidelong to glance at Jazz. "Query?" he finally stuttered.

"Would you return to the Decepticons?" Prime's optics were harsh.

"Negative." That question, at least, was an easier one to answer. Soundwave shook his helm, feeling Jazz's warmth across his spark. "Negative." That course was closed to him.

Another heavy sigh from Prime, this one for resolve, for strength.

Prowl's optics burned, lancing into Sideswipe.

"Soundwave and Jazz, you both have been found guilty of crimes charged against you by this tribunal. The punishment for your crimes is death." Silence, heavy, hung in the air. "We have known nothing but war for generations upon generations, nothing but the devastation and destruction of our homes, our lives, and our planet. Our very way of life has been destroyed." Prime paused, weighing his words. "We must give care to not lose our souls as well. There are standards we must uphold, ties of fidelity that unite us as a people. These sacred bonds must be maintained."

Sideswipe's optics clouded with confusion, and he shook his helm, trying to understand. Prowl's gaze was still burning, his optics brightening to white shocks.

Prime continued, his voice growing rough, grating. "We, as a race, came from the stars. We are made out of the sacred elements that surround us in the cosmos. The same noble gases and primary elements that burn in the center of stars, in the center of galaxies, burns in our sparks and in our frames, powering our existence. This is the gift from Primus, our existence, borne of the universe around us." Sideswipe was not the only mech who had recognized the date. Prime's spark burned with the feeling of Primus, the power of their creator flowing within him, reflected in the stars above, and the sparks in their chests. "As the stars live and die in the cosmos, so do we. And as the stars, we have choices to make in our lives. Primus guides us and guides all things, but our choices are our own." Prime's voice hardened as his gaze fell to Jazz and Soundwave.

For the first time, Jazz shifted, uneasy.

"Our lives are our own. Our choices are our own. The paths we take are forged by our own actions. In this, we bear responsibility for our choices, but we must answer to many others. To our comrades, our race, and to Primus, for the deeds we have done." Prime's optics shifted, falling to Soundwave.

"The greatest tragedy," Prime continued, inhaling deeply. "Is that the war has robbed our spirits of the ability to forgive. Our bitterness has clouded our minds, hatred our sparks. Madness has ensnared our race, and we are all, to a one, guilty of that." Prime paused, and Prowl finally broke, his face twisting with an echo of anguish that only Sideswipe could see. "We are all guilty of hatred," Prime repeated.

"The greatest hardship of all is to learn to see through optics not our own, and to understand lives that we have not lived. Our history is a shared history, a joint history of many mechs, many lives. Honoring that history means hearing everything and everyone, and recognizing the part that each mech has played." Again, Prime fixed his gaze to Soundwave before looking over the faces of his crew. He saw nothing but soul-weary sadness and a yearning for something undefined.

"We are far from the power of our ancestors, far from the sparks of our predecessors. However, we choose, here and now, to remember and to survive, and to uphold the best qualities of our race. It is a painful exodus, trading hatred for understanding, but it is a necessary virtue to preserve the essence and purpose of our people. These memories are painful, and they will always be." A moment, silence. "Together, we all know what it is like to lose, and to hurt, and to hate. That is our common pain, our shared pain. Our identity, then, is the journey beyond this pain."

Prime's optics roamed the crowd. His gaze darted over Bluestreak and Sunstreaker, their band of friends surrounding them both as bastions against the forces of evil. Bluestreak was breathing fast, hyper vents as his optics brightened. Sunstreaker's expression was as unreadable as ever, but their fingers were locked in a death grip, nearly fracturing the metal. Prime swallowed, pressing forward. "We are _one_ race, _one_ people… but we are a people. We are mortal. We are flawed. But, we can forgive." Prime's gaze finally turned back to Jazz and Soundwave as Prowl truly broke, lowering his helm to stare at the decking. Sideswipe started forward, but froze.

"Our history is a complicated one. Our future need not be. Working together, we can create a new future." Prime stared at Jazz and Soundwave. Soundwave was silent, still, while Jazz was trembling, slow shakes that built until he was nearly flying apart. "This will not be a popular judgment today, however…" Prime paused, swallowing. "Soundwave and Jazz, your testimonies mark the first in an entry of Truth and Reconciliation. This will be a record of our history in its entirety, for only Primus to judge."

Stunned silence filled the Rec Room. Prime spoke again loudly, before the reactions burst out. "It is our duty to heal our souls. We begin today. Soundwave, you are hereby granted asylum from the Decepticons. Asylum will be effective as long as you do not rejoin the Decepticons or join them in any way. Jazz, you are stripped of your rank and title, and removed from the Autobot forces. However, you both are free."

Free, at least, to live. Their lives would be constrained, actions monitored, communications censored. Still, they would be alive, and given a chance at least, to atone.

"Red Alert," Prime ordered, standing tall. "Release Soundwave and Jazz."

Purities of emotion crashed through the Rec Room, raw and unleashed. Disbelief and shock warred with confusion, tearing through every mech. Red Alert moved quickly, unshackling the bonds around Jazz and Soundwave's wrists as Bluestreak shrieked, a guttural, primal cry of pure relief. He collapsed, falling backwards and sideways and into Sunstreaker's arms as Sunstreaker himself gave way, falling to the decking as his arms wrapped around Bluestreak. Their friends looked on in shock as Bluestreak's sobs burst outward. Sunstreaker trailed soft fingertips down Bluestreak's face. "It's alright, Blue," Sunstreaker whispered.

"Yes, it will be," Bluestreak whispered back. He kissed at Sunstreaker's fingertips, lost in too much sensation. Life was a reprieve he'd never asked for, and finally, he was living in Day One.

Sunstreaker shivered as Bluestreak's lips closed over his fingertips. There was a way out of the darkness, out of the madness, and it lay here, wrapped up in strong arms and trembling breath.

Jazz staggered as Red Alert unshackled his wrists, not meeting his gaze. He pitched sideways, keening, and reached for Soundwave. Soundwave had already turned, was already reaching for Jazz as Red Alert removed his restraints, and they too met in the middle, crashing their bodies full into one another as lips and helms and fingers drew together, caressing and holding and rubbing. Jazz gasped, raking heavy air through disbelieving vents, and his lips dragged down over Soundwave's chin. "No," Jazz whispered, just before his legs gave way and his knees collapsed, dragging him to the decking in a trembling heap of shocked disbelief and terrible confusion. Soundwave followed, his hands never leaving Jazz's plating.

They clung together, mirror images of Sunstreaker and Bluestreak at opposite sides of the Rec Room, clinging to their lovers in the midst of darkness and confusion, hovering on the precipice of an uncertain future.

Prowl couldn't bear the sight a moment longer. Prime's words had barely hung in the air for a moment before he was moving, escaping, running. He pushed his way off the dais, moving to the doors. Sideswipe tried to follow, tried to catch up to Prowl, but the crew was a mass of feelings and urges and waves, and they blocked his movement. Finally he pushed through, racing to the corridor after Prowl.

Prowl had already disappeared, moving quickly through the twisting _Ark's_ corridors until he was at the entrance. He dropped into his alt mode without a second thought, gunning his engine to full throttle as he opened up, roaring off into the desert, and leaving it all – everything – behind.

Sideswipe was hot on his turbines, racing after Prowl with all his considerable speed. Still, Prowl had a sizeable head start, and his alt mode was deceptively fast. Sideswipe finally caught Prowl as he rounded the bend overlooking a narrow canyon, the steep ravine drop plunging below. Sideswipe swerved, righting himself, and slammed on his brakes. Ahead, Prowl transformed, standing on the precipice, heaving great gasps of hot desert air.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe shouted out, reaching, but he froze as the rocks skittered over the edge. There was barely room to drive up there, much less run or walk. "Prowl!"

Wild optics turned to Sideswipe, blinding with uncertainty. Prowl's mouth was open, breathing unknown words as his hands clenched into fists. Primus, but what had he done? Argued, argued for hours with Prime and Red Alert, begging them to reconsider. He'd done this, he'd been the one to change the verdict. What had he done? What had he done? Staring into Sideswipe's optics, now at the edge of the cliff face, Prowl saw flashes of all of the agony caused to the red twin, his death at Jazz's hands, the battles he'd barely come home from, in more pieces than whole, the pain he'd lived through, the childhood he'd been robbed of. Primus, what had he done?

"You did the right thing," Sideswipe whispered. He licked his lips, staring Prowl's wildness down. "You did the right thing, Prowl."

There was no such thing, none at all, as a right choice in this universe. Not with Decepticons and betrayal and the choice for mercy.

But, with one look into Sideswipe's optics, there was the possibility for redemption. If there was anything pure, anything good at all, it was known to Prowl only through Sideswipe, and in his perfect optics and his soft face. Prowl turned, and two steps brought their bodies together. He leaned into Sideswipe's embrace, pressing his helm flat against Sideswipe's shoulder as Sideswipe's arms wrapped around his body.

"You did the right thing," Sideswipe whispered again.

Beneath his soft, stroking hands, Prowl shuddered. There were many dark choices in the universe, too many. Sideswipe helped shine a light through the madness.

* * *

The crew was still shocked into silence, though slowly petering out into their own devices as Jazz and Soundwave stumbled from the Rec Room, free mechs. Silence followed them both, mixed with stares and disbelief.

Jazz, unbelievably, led Soundwave to his quarters. He'd never thought he'd ever see his quarters again, but here he was, barely thirty minutes past what should have been his execution, and he was inputting the locking code to his doors and brushing aside the sealed evidence marker Red Alert had placed there days before. The doors hissed open, the light from the corridor slipping within. Jazz stumbled as he crossed the threshold, clinging to Soundwave's arm.

He made it as far as his couch before he stopped, trembling again. One hand flew to his mouth, covering the harsh sobs that suddenly wreaked through his body. His knees gave way, legs collapsing, and once again, Jazz fell to the floor.

"This…" Jazz grunted as Soundwave knelt beside him, too stunned himself to do anything more than cling to Jazz. "This isn't what was supposed to happen."

Soundwave nodded. "Prowl," he whispered. "A complicated mech."

Jazz pitched forward, rocking as he sobbed, clinging to Soundwave's hand on the floor in the darkness of his quarters. Soundwave wrapped himself around Jazz, resting his helm on Jazz's shoulders until they both offlined, too exhausted to move.

* * *

Prowl didn't know how long he rested in Sideswipe embrace, losing track of time and consequence, but he finally came back to reality as Sideswipe's hands were stroking his back and soft words were falling over his audials. He pushed back, grunting, and let his hands rest on Sideswipe's forearms. "I…" he shook his helm. "This is going to be terrible for the crew. They will be confused, scared. I have to lead this. Primus, I have to take the lead in this. I'm going to need to-"

Sideswipe cut him off, tugging on his hands. "You can take a moment to rest, Prowl," he said softly. "You deserve a moment's peace."

Sighing, Prowl pitched his helm forward again, and this time, Sideswipe's helm met him halfway. Forehelm to forehelm they stood, hands clasped between their bodies. The hot desert air blew in thermals around them, blowing up from the canyon edge and scattering red dust over their plating.

Finally, Prowl backed away, letting Sideswipe's hands go with a reluctant squeeze. "I have so much to do," Prowl whispered.

"You're not going to be alone."

"No." Prowl shook his helm, a thin smile stretched over his lip. "But I need time. I need to figure so much out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sideswipe whispered. "Whatever you need, I'll always be here."

"You've done so much already." Prowl swallowed. "Without you-" He couldn't finish. There were too many ways to complete that thought, that feeling. Prowl shook his helm, then frowned. "Do you still have that data pad?"

Nodding, Sideswipe pulled it from his subspace and handed it over. "What is it?"

Prowl didn't answer right away. Instead, he flipped the casing and slid back the top panel, then popped out the wireless transceiver slotted into the base of the main unit. He clutched the transceiver in his palm, then held it over the ravine. Slowly, he turned his fist and let the chip fall to the canyon floor. "This is a lesson I need to learn," Prowl finally grunted. He slid the cover back into place, then clutched the data pad in both of his hands. "There are things here I need to remember." The virus, his slip into darkness. He'd tossed away the means to transmit it, torn out the trigger on his weapon.

Silence stretched between them, unhurried. Sideswipe stared over the canyon, watching the afternoon sun burn overhead. Finally, he turned and stared at Prowl's profile. Prowl's optics were offline, face turned up to the sky.

"I'm going to head back," Sideswipe whispered. He had to check on his brother, make sure he was alright. "Come with me?"

Prowl shook his helm. "I need to be out here a bit longer."

Sideswipe nodded. He started to back away, then stared hard at Prowl. "Don't jump," Sideswipe admonished.

"If I was going to jump, it would have been yesterday." Prowl turned to Sideswipe, and for the first time in a long while, he smiled. It was sad and forlorn, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"I'll be waiting for you when you get back?" Prowl nodded, and Sideswipe reluctantly turned to go. He forced himself to not look back, giving Prowl the space he needed to exorcise his demons on the rocky cliff ledge. Sideswipe dropped down to his alt mode and drove back to the _Ark_, though his pace was slow and he kept his rear sensors keyed to full strength.

Behind him, Prowl stood on the canyon edge for hours, staring into the sky. Soon, the stars would emerge, the cousins to their sparks and souls. Heat burned over his plating, wind cooled the scratches of the dust. Still he stood, a silent sentinel over memories and ghosts and promises, and let the pain bleed from his body.

There were all sorts of obscenities in the universe, all sorts of evil, terrible actions and deeds and consequences. Every once in a while, though, a mech might get it right. Those days were few and far between, but in the moments where a mech stood, hovering over the choice between fate and destiny, all souls hung in the balance. Choose for good, or choose for darkness. Carve your path, affect the lives of others. Make a change. Change the world.

Prowl turned his helm up, tracing the path of the Sun. Earth's sun could have been one of those stars Sideswipe danced under as a mechlet, giddy and innocent. Connections upon connections, threads of life and reality weaving together in ceaseless, unending patterns. Life was too complicated, some days

The sun warmed his plating as his optics drifted offline.

Some days, it wasn't worth opening his optics.

Some days, it was.

* * *

_Song: This Night, Black Lab_

_ watch?v=kmz7mV1WavA_

_Courtesy of OddStick_


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

**_Six Months After the Verdict:_**

The laser blast slammed into Prowl's chest. He grunted, systems alerts and warnings flaring. His rifle slipped from his hands, clattering to the dirt, and as Prowl pitched forward, the last sight he saw before he slipped offline was Soundwave standing over his body, rifle clutched in his hands, staring down at him.

_Figures_, Prowl thought.

* * *

**_Two Weeks after the Verdict:_**

Life on the _Ark_ rolled forward deceptively calmly despite the shocking nature of the verdict at the tribunal. For the most part, the crew didn't speak of it, and instead, everyone defaulted to operating as if there weren't two unspeakable goliaths living on board their ship.

Jazz and Soundwave kept to their shared quarters – Jazz's quarters – and stayed out of the crews' way. Prime requested information from Soundwave several days after the verdict, information on the Decepticons and their unexpected flight from Earth. Soundwave agreed to provide what he could when he could, but he refused to take up arms against his former comrades.

One week after the verdict, there had been a mild anxiety attack of full battle station proportions as two Decepticons signals honed into the _Ark_, flying at their perimeter with speed. Alerts blared, the squads were assembled, and the entire contingent rolled out to meet what turned out to be the disheveled duo of Ravage and Laserbeak, huddled in the dust and the dirt, underpowered, raggedly looking, and begging for Soundwave.

Soundwave and Jazz emerged then, racing to the _Ark _entrance at the first word of the cassettes. Red Alert and Ironhide were hesitant, not ready to let Soundwave near his symbionts, but Prime gave the final word, and Jazz and Soundwave knelt down in the dirt and scooped both up, carrying them to the medbay for Ratchet to check on. Energon rehydration and some recharge later, and Jazz's quarters increased by two.

It had been awkward, seeing Jazz cradle Ravage in his arms. Jazz hadn't met any mechs' gaze as he returned to the _Ark _with their brood.

It was another week, however, before Jazz dared venture to the Command Deck. It was mid-morning, past the shift change, and Prime and Prowl were in Prime's office, looking over an aerial recon map of the former known Decepticon strategic locations. Jazz was escorted in by Ironhide, the weapon's specialist grouchy and irritable and staring too-hard at Jazz.

"Thank you, Ironhide," Prime had said pointedly, dismissing Ironhide as Jazz stood uneasy in the center of Prime's office.

For Prowl, it was the first time he'd been able to see Jazz since the tribunal. He stared him over, peering at the changes. Jazz's Autobot sigil was gone, removed, and in its place, just to the right of his chestplate seams, were the carved and etched impressions of Soundwave's name scrawled in Cybertronian glyphs. It was an old tradition, dating back to early Cybertron, the vertical columns of glyphs the sign of mated and bonded status. There was no denying their love now.

"You wanted to speak to me, Jazz?" Prime was as polite as ever.

Jazz nodded, trying to speak. "Yes," he grunted. "I'd like to ask-" He shifted again. "I'd like to ask permission for Soundwave and I to… go. Go away for a few days. Spend some time alone, off the _Ark_." They hadn't had any time to themselves, really, since everything had begun. He needed time and space, freedom to be with Soundwave, to learn him inside and out. They needed to be away from the _Ark_, for just a little while.

Prime and Prowl stared at Jazz, then at each other. "You want to take a vacation?" Prime clarified, trying for levity.

Jazz nodded, chewing on his lip. "We can wear monitor beacons. You can track our comms, make sure we're not calling the Deceptions, watch where we are, see if anyone makes contact with us." He sighed. "We just want to go away for a while. Disappear. Be together."

Prowl spoke first. "Makes sense," he said, his doorwings straightening crisply. "I think spending time together would do you both a world of good." He nodded to Prime, his vote of assent.

Prime's optic ridges arched, but he turned to Jazz and nodded as well. "You both may go," he said. "But we will want to know details of your planned trip and where you will be. Exact times of departure and your expected return."

Jazz nodded, a tight smile crossing his face. "Understood," he said softly. "Thank you."

Jazz chose to take him and Soundwave camping, of all things. They headed out that weekend, disappearing into the wilderness north of the border, miles and miles from anyone or anything. Prime decided not to fit them with audial monitoring beacons, but did request they activate their locator and sensor beacons. They'd know, if anyone came by. Prowl stayed out of it as much as he could, focusing instead on the day to day duties that the _Ark _had slipped back into. Still, as Friday drew to a close, Prowl found himself obsessively checking the weather for those forest coordinates, checking up on the conditions over the coming days, and rechecking the beacons again and again.

Sideswipe's interruption, when it came in the evening, was a welcome one.

"Hey." Sideswipe's helm pushed into his office as he leaned in from the corridor. "Whatcha doin'?"

Before, Prowl would tolerate Sideswipe's presence as he continued to work. Now, he smiled as he focused his whole attention to the red twin. "I need to get out of here," he chuckled.

"That's convenient!" Sideswipe slid into Prowl's office, still smiling. "Cause I have a place to go." Prowl's optic ridges rose. "There's this street art show in downtown Portland tonight, and Sunstreaker is taking Bluestreak. However," Sideswipe grinned, rocking back and forth. "There's also a 'Shakespeare in the Park' play happening, too, just around the corner. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?" Sideswipe bounced on his feet, his body twisting back and forth as he smiled. "Just as friends," he amended, his voice light.

"Sunstreaker is taking Bluestreak, huh?" Prowl asked. He peered at Sideswipe. "How are those two doing?"

"Good." Sideswipe nodded. "Moving slow. Starting at the beginning, finally." He shook his helm. "Getting to know one another."

Prowl murmured as his optic ridges flicked upward, once. "What a concept," he quipped. The weather alert for the Canadian forest chirped on his terminal screen. He glanced down at it, sighing. "What time does the Shakespeare start?"

"8:30. We'd have to leave soon to get there on time." Sideswipe bit his lip, trying to hold back his smile. His optics were shining.

Prowl offlined his terminal and stood. "Well then, we don't have any time to waste." He couldn't help it; he smiled back at Sideswipe's beaming grin.

Unbelievably, Prowl loved every moment. The park was cool, the grass soft, and the Shakespeare superb. Even the crowd was welcoming to the giant robots hovering in the back. Halfway through the play, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak wandered over, joining them on the lawn. Bluestreak leaned against Sunstreaker effortlessly, relaxing against his shoulder as Sunstreaker causally slung his arm around Bluestreak. It was a milestone for them.

Perhaps the best part of the evening were the small, shy smiles that Prowl caught Sideswipe tossing his way throughout the play. It warmed his spark, as tortured as it was. Oh, to be loved, to be cherished. It was a delicious thought, a welcome reprieve. He so wanted to be loved, and Sideswipe's affection was magnetic. It was also a danger, one Prowl was keen to recognize. He wanted, very much, to heal, but not at the expense of another. He cared too much for Sideswipe to use him in any way, and if something were to develop there, it would have to be slow. Prowl couldn't stomach the thought of running into Sideswipe's arms only to have to run away again. He was tired, too tired of all of that. He had to heal first, then work on figuring out his feelings for the red twin.

What he knew of for certain was that he owed Sideswipe his life and his entire soul.

And Prowl was healing, albeit slowly. The rage had left, but not the hurt. The pain lingered, catching him at odd points throughout the day. Night was hardest, when he was alone in the quarters that he and Jazz had effectively lived in together. Thoughts of Jazz and Soundwave holed up in Jazz's quarters plagued his thoughts, keeping him awake, and he spent more time sitting up in the dark, thinking, than he'd ever done before.

While it was slow, his healing _was_ happening.

Sideswipe brightened his days, making a point to check in on him every day. Their banter returned, easy and comfortable. It was relaxing, to fall back into the old routines. And welcome. Very welcome.

Jazz and Soundwave returned from their camping trip silently, slipping back into their quarters without fanfare or ado. The trip helped, in many ways. Jazz hadn't ever had to truly _be_ with Soundwave, not in the ways that he'd had to be with Prowl. They hadn't lived together, shared space, shared berths, shared lives. It was different, conducting a love affair, than it was to build a life together. Jazz was discovering new things every day: Soundwave recharged lightly and onlined early. He held Jazz throughout the entire night, arms holding him close. He was quiet at odd times during the day, retreating to a solitude within his mind. Jazz was quiet too, lost in thoughts and memories and judgments, and he appreciated the silence of just sitting close. There were ghosts in their lives now, haunting their actions, and Jazz couldn't escape that.

Ghosts clung close to Jazz especially, pulling on his spark.

One week later, Prowl found himself browsing the art show listings, looking through the plays and performances for the summer concert series in downtown Portland and wondering what Sideswipe would enjoy seeing, or not Bluestreak and Sunstreaker would tag along.

* * *

**_One Month after the Verdict:_**

"It's just going to be a small get together," Sideswipe insisted, leaning over Prowl's desk. "They just need to unwind a bit. You know, with everything." He shrugged, not mentioning Jazz or Soundwave.

"This 'small get together' won't involve high grade, will it?" Prowl arched his optic ridges at Sideswipe as he straightened his data pads on his desk.

"Only a tiny bit, to take the edge off. There won't be any craziness." Sideswipe smiled. "I p_romise_, Prowl." Prowl's optics narrowed as he regarded Sideswipe suspiciously. "Please come?"

"I'll think about it." Prowl fixed Sideswipe with a dry stare, but a smile curved up his lips. "When is this party?"

"Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock." Sideswipe grinned again, pushing himself back from Prowl's desk. "I'll meet you then? Should I pick you up here or at your quarters?"

"Here." Prowl turned back to his terminal. "But I haven't agreed to come."

"Of course not."

"Do I need to bring anything? I know how much you ruffians love your games." Prowl stole a sidelong glance to Sideswipe.

"Nope. Just you." Sideswipe beamed, turning to leave. "See you tomorrow! It will be fun, I promise!"

Nine o'clock the next night found Sideswipe and Prowl outside of Smokescreen's quarters, buzzing for entrance. Sideswipe had been hustled down the corridor only moments before by Prowl, waiting outside his office at precisely nine. "We can't be late now, can we Sideswipe?" he'd said, tsking over Sideswipe's late arrival at just barely nine. Sideswipe, good naturedly, played along.

They were still joking and bickering as the doors to Smokescreen's quarters slid open. Their voices stopped instantly, shorting in shock.

"Hey guys!" Trailbreaker boomed, slouched against the doorjamb. Behind him, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were ensconced on the small couch, Bluestreak sitting in Sunstreaker's lap with his arms around the golden twin's neck. Hound and Mirage were at the table, piles of empty high grade shots spread between them. Hound already had his goofy grin plastered over his face and Mirage was acting more haughty than usual. Tracks sat at the table as well, ignoring everyone. Smokescreen was kneeling on the floor, his helm titled up as Bumblebee hands and poured a long, unending stream of energon from a homemade ultra-cube into Smokescreen's waiting mouth. By the angle of the ultra-cube, Prowl guessed Smokescreen's had already chugged a good portion of the high grade.

And, by the hue of the energon, Wheeljack had restarted his sill.

Prowl turned dry optics to Sideswipe. Sideswipe was flabbergasted. "What the slag!" he called. "Guys!"

Trailbreaker grinned, turning to cheer Smokescreen on. "Yeah, babe!" he called. He turned back to the new arrivals as he swept his arms over Smokescreen's quarters. "Welcome to the party!"

Prowl stepped in first, tossing a wry look back at Sideswipe. Sideswipe stared after Prowl, his mouth dropping open. "It'd be rude to leave now," Prowl smirked. He accepted a cube of high grade Mirage slid his way with a small nod of thanks and gestured for Sideswipe to join him at the table. Smokescreen grunted, swallowing the last of the high grade from the ultra-cube and pumped his fists into the air as the rest of the mechs broke into cheers.

"Who's next!" Smokescreen shouted. "Time to let loose!"

Several hours later found them all sipping high grade at the table, deep in a game of highly competitive, fiercely fought Go Fish. Prowl had two empty cubes next to him, same as Sideswipe, and they were playing opposite each other. Most mechs had tapped out, and only Trailbreaker was still fighting.

Prowl glared over his cards at Sideswipe. "Go fish."

Sideswipe grinned and drew a card, then triumphantly placed several down in the discard pile. Prowl glared harder.

"Man, I'm out," Trailbreaker mumbled, dropping his cards. "I can't win this." He scooted back from the table, nursing his high grade cube. The only two left to play were Sideswipe and Prowl, still glaring at each other over the pile of discarded cards and the betting pool – another ultra-cube. Smokescreen stood behind Trailbreaker, his hands stroking over his lover's shoulders. Hound and Mirage stood behind Prowl and Sideswipe respectively, and Sunstreaker had his arms wrapped around Bluestreak's waist as they stood half-watching and half-necking.

"Don't you know, Sides," Smokescreen drawled, high grade in his voice. "That it's _bad_ luck to gamble against your crush?"

Hoots and hollers went up around the table as Sideswipe's optics flared. He refused to break his hold on Prowl's gaze, instead shifting and wriggling in his seat. Prowl didn't react at all.

"What, was that a secret?" Smokescreen laughed, overcharged. "Sides, you're so painfully obvious about it!"

Smooching noises echoed around the room as Prowl played his next hand. "Damn!" Sideswipe handed the requested cards over, and Prowl laid his down, winning the game. Cheers rose again, the congratulations and heckles of Sideswipe continuing.

Prowls' optics twinkled as he dragged the ultra-cube across the table, clutching it in both hands. "Whatcha gonna do with that, Prowl?" Trailbreaker asked, teasing. "Keep it as a trophy?"

"I was thinking of drinking it," Prowl replied, teasing in his own way. "But not alone." He turned his laughing optics to Sideswipe. "Sideswipe, care to join me?"

More hoots and hollers as Sideswipe rose, but as the red twin passed Smokescreen he reached out and smacked as his plating, punching him in the shoulders until Smokescreen surrendered. Sideswipe slid into the seat next to Prowl with a smile as Prowl tossed his arm over the back of Sideswipe's chair and slid the cube toward him. They shared a small smile as Smokescreen started up another game, this one involving shots of high grade, and the rest of the evening passed in blur of laughter. Prowl kept his drinking to a minimum, and noticed that Sideswipe was doing the same. When one o'clock rolled around, they were the only ones able to keep their feet as they slipped out of Smokescreen's quarters.

"I am so sorry!" Sideswipe gasped, chuckling. "I had no idea they were planning all of that!"

Prowl laughed, loud and clear. "It's alright, Sides," he said, shaking his helm. "I think they needed it." Sideswipe smiled back as they walked the short distance to Sideswipe's quarters.

"I had fun," Sideswipe said softly.

"Me too," Prowl agreed. He was tired, but he was, unbelievably, happy.

"About their teasing…" Sideswipe trailed off, biting his lip. "About what they said."

"Don't worry about it." Prowl smiled, slapping at Sideswipe's door panel. "See you tomorrow?"

* * *

**_One and a Half Months after the Verdict:_**

Prowl walked into the Rec Room and stopped dead in his tracks.

The crew was clustered on one side, huddled around tables and their morning cubes of energon with hushed words and quiet whispers and dark looks thrown across to the other side of the room. A great distance, empty, separated the crew from the lone mech sitting in a corner table, entirely alone, nursing his cube of energon.

Soundwave.

Prowl stared for a long moment before he grabbed his energon from the dispenser and slowly made his way to Soundwave's table. What had possessed the Decepticon to come to the Rec Room? And where was Jazz? The crew fell deathly silent as Prowl drew close to Soundwave's table. Primus, but he'd known that he was going to have to take the lead in this.

"Good morning," Prowl said stiffly. His doorwings flared.

"Greeting," Soundwave replied awkwardly.

"Where is Jazz?" Prowl frowned down at Soundwave, taking in the tired features and harsh grip on his cube.

"Recharging," Soundwave grunted. "Recharge: difficult for Jazz. Last night: especially difficult."

Prowl's frown deepened. "Why is he having problems recharging?"

Soundwave's helm tilted as he stared at Prowl, silent. His gaze said enough. Prowl sighed, shifting on his feet. "You may sit," Soundwave finally said, though it came out as a strangled question, a half-plea and half-command.

Prowl slid the chair out and sat down, stiff. He turned halfway toward Soundwave, clutching his own cube in both hands on the table. They were perfect mirrors of each other, uncomfortable and tense. The crew stared unabashedly.

"So," Prowl said after a moment. "How is everything?"

"Difficult," Soundwave answered quietly. "Present concerns: Jazz's well-being."

That piqued Prowl's attention, and he hated that it did so. "Oh?" He sipped his cube, trying for nonchalant.

"Jazz: depressed," Soundwave said. His gaze shifted as he swallowed. "Miserable."

"And why is that?" Prowl's emotions warred within, genuine concern mixed with petty victory, lording over Jazz's unhappiness with the life he'd chosen. His spark, fragile though it was, won out, and concern trumped his darkness. "What's wrong?"

A heavy sigh from Soundwave. "Jazz: isolates himself."

Prowl frowned. It was an astute observation from Soundwave. He hadn't expected as much. Then again, Soundwave and Jazz were bonded. That had to mean Soundwave knew at least something about Jazz, right? "What are you doing here?"

Another pause. "Attempting to…" Soundwave frowned, picking at his cube. "Engage in associations. Attempting to make _his_ associations easier." Soundwave looked away.

Prowl inhaled, and in the background, Sideswipe tore into the Rec Room, summoned by the crew. Sideswipe froze, staring at Prowl and Soundwave as his optics boggled and his mouth dropped open. Prowl's optics narrowed as he peered at Soundwave carefully.

"Tell me, Soundwave, have you ever played Levels?"

* * *

"I cannot _believe_ you played levels with Soundwave!" Sideswipe followed after Prowl, stalking him through the _Ark's _corridors. "You won't even play Levels with _me_!"

"I was trying to be nice," Prowl said simply.

"You played Levels. With _Soundwave_."

"Yes."

"When do _we_ get to play Levels?"

Prow stopped, turning to face Sideswipe as they drew near to the _Ark's_ entrance. His lines were flaming, his plating prickling. He'd spent the entire morning with Soundwave, putting aside work as he played Levels with the former Decepticon until Jazz himself had appeared, stunned and speechless, chasing after his lover. The crew watched as well, mumbling and dazed. Soundwave finally left with Jazz after a formal and stiff, yet spark-deep, thanks to Prowl. It seemed uneasy on his glossa though, as if gratitude were an emotion not often, or ever, expressed.

"Let's drive," Prowl said. His optics flashed. "Let's just go."

They went. Far and fast. It was much better than Levels.

The next day, Soundwave appeared again, and Prowl was ready with his game board. Jazz arrived later, hovering in the background and unwilling to participate. Prowl stayed for several rounds before heading to his duties and Soundwave returned to his quarters with a silent and pensive Jazz.

The fifth day, Prowl asked Soundwave about helping the Autobots tactically and providing intelligence on his former comrades. Soundwave agreed. Jazz was still silent.

That night, Prowl appeared at Sideswipe's door, bearing his Levels board and his won ultra-cube of high grade. A wry smile, and then they were playing, laughing softly as they let the day melt away.

* * *

**_Two Months after the Verdict:_**

Prowl turned up at Sideswipe's door again, bearing a game controller and a dubious expression. "Bluestreak loaned me this."

Grinning, Sideswipe dragged Prowl inside and guided him to the couch. "Awesome," he said. "Let's play Mario Carts. It will be an easy one to learn on."

Hours later, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker returned to the twins' quarters to much shouting, cursing, and laughter, Prowl and Sideswipe battling it out over Mario Karts. Prowl's arms were waving through the air, driving his car with his controller as Sideswipe swerved his princess avatar effortlessly through the desert racetrack.

"How are you - Slag!" Prowl swerved, flipping his Yoshimobile over. "I'm upside down _again_?"

Sideswipe giggled, leaning close to Prowl's shoulder as he lapped his spinning Yoshimobile. "Looks like!"

"Hey guys," Bluestreak grinned. "Having fun?"

"Yes!" Sideswipe shouted, exactly as Prowl grumbled, "No."

He stayed at Sideswipe's side, playing until he won a race at two in the morning. Sideswipe may have let him win, but it was worth it for the victorious smile and the happy light in Prowl's optics, and the way they sat side by side, touching from their shoulder to their feet.

* * *

**_Two and a Half Months After the Verdict:_**

"Opera in the Park. Tosca is playing. Wanna go?"

"The Portland Music Festival?"

"Yep!"

"Pick you up at 6?"

"See you then."

* * *

**_Three Months after the Verdict:_**

"Jazz. You must drink energon."

"I don't need it."

"Jazz: underpowered."

"I feel fine…."

"…Jazz: lying."

Silence.

"Jazz: I am worried."

* * *

**_Four Months after the Verdict:_**

It was a stupid and forgotten land mine, an army leftover from long ago training that got the twins next.

Since the Decepticon withdrawal, there hadn't been any accidents, no trips to the medbay, no grievous injuries. It had been peaceful, even, though everyone was on eggshells, waiting for the Decepticons' return. Soundwave was providing as much intel as he could, working at times with Jazz in the back of the Command Deck as they worked to decipher the tiny threads of intelligence they could find.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were on a lazy drive, racing in the backcountry when an old land mine, forgotten by time, exploded in their path. Sunstreaker flew forward, Sideswipe backward, twisted metal and mangled joints burning. Skyfire brought them home to Ratchet, who whisked them into surgery.

Prowl stood vigil outside the medbay with Bluestreak. The gunner was barely holding himself together, shaking and trembling and sure that his darkest nightmares were coming true.

"This is terrible," Bluestreak whispered. "How can you stand it? I can't take this. I don't want to be here." Bluestreak shuddered.

"Stay," Prowl whispered. "It makes all the difference in the world."

Hours later, when Sunstreaker onlined and saw Bluestreak sitting by his medberth holding his hand, the light in his optics and the smile that broke over his face made everything worth it. Bluestreak flew into his arms, hugging him too-hard for his delicate injuries. Sunstreaker didn't care at all.

Sideswipe onlined a moment later, in tandem with his brother. As usual, he was loopy, and he stared at Prowl with blitzed optics, dazed with wonder. "Prowl," he mumbled, reaching for his hand. "Hey…."

"Hey yourself," Prowl whispered. He squeezed Sideswipe's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Now that you're here? Fan-tastic." Sideswipe held Prowl's hand as he drifted back into recharge.

He awoke later, Prowl still at his side reading a data pad. Sunstreaker's berth was empty.

"Where's Sunny?" Sideswipe's held lolled to the side. He was still drugged, still loopy.

"He left earlier with Blue." Prowl smiled down at Sideswipe again. "You were still out of it."

"Ratchet likes to overdose me, I think," Sideswipe whispered conspiratorially. "He likes it when I'm offline."

Prowl smirked. "I'm sure he does."

Sideswipe was allowed to leave shortly after, but he was still woozy on his feet. "Whoa," he whispered as he stood, swaying wildly. Prowl steadied him, wrapping his arm around Sideswipe's waist. Sideswipe leaned into the touch.

"To your quarters," Prowl said, his voice firm.

Sideswipe made a face. "Blue and Sunny are gonna be there," he whined. "And I don't want listen to their 'I love you more,' 'No, no, I love you more' talk any more." Prowl snorted. "Primus, you should hear them!" Sideswipe groaned.

"Where do you want to go, then?"

Sideswipe shrugged. "Rec Room? I'll just hang out for a while." As he spoke, he stumbled, almost losing his footing. He giggled breathlessly and struggled to catch his footing.

Prowl stared at him. "You're not fit for public."

"Aren't you 'public?'" Sideswipe waggled his optics ridges.

"No, I'm Prowl." Prowl steered Sideswipe down a different hallway. "And you need your rest."

"I'm not tired!" Sideswipe protested, even as his energy was falling, his engine quieting. "I don't want to go back to my quarters."

"You're not." Prowl steered the petulant twin to his own quarters, pausing to slap open the door.

Sideswipe peered at the unfamiliar surroundings. "Where are we?" He curled up his nose, frowning.

"My quarters."

Sideswipe whipped his helm around, unsteadying his footing, and he stumbled sideways. "What?" Prowl had to grab his hands to keep him on his feet.

Prowl backed him up, guiding him toward the berth. "Rest, Sideswipe."

Sideswipe's hands were flailing and he stumbled as Prowl gently mech-handled him to the berth. "Prowl, wait a minute," he stuttered, speaking fast. "I mean, this is something I've fantasized about for a long time, but don't you think this is a bit fast? We haven't even gone on a date yet." Sideswipe grunted as Prowl pushed him onto the berth, pressing on his shoulders until he sat, flopping down. Sideswipe pitched to the side immediately, falling limp with exhaustion. "We haven't kissed or anything, haven't even held hands-"

"You've fantasized about the two of us?" Prowl's optics rose as he helped Sideswipe straighten his kicking legs on his berth.

"Slag yeah," Sideswipe grinned. His optics were darkening. "Who wouldn't? Frag, you're sexy, Prowl. I fantasize about you all the time." Sideswipe grinned again, though his optics kept darkening.

"One day you'll have to tell me about these fantasies." Prowl pressed his hand to Sideswipe's chest as he stood at the berthside, looking down fondly. "Recharge, Sideswipe. You need it."

"No I don't." Sideswipe fell offline a moment later.

Sighing, Prowl shook his helm, but he was smiling a familiar smile, one he was wearing a lot these days.

* * *

"What time is it?" The groan came from the berth hours later, grumbled and low.

Prowl looked up from his data pad, trying not to grin. "Early morning," he said. He stood, walking to the berth to stare down at Sideswipe. "How are you feeling?"

Sideswipe frowned. "Where am i?"

"My quarters."

Sideswipe gasped, freezing. Primus, how out of it had he been?

Prowl smiled and pushed Sideswipe back down. "Rest some more, Sideswipe," he said gently. "I've got to go on duty." It was almost time for his almost-but-not-quite-friendly liaisons with Soundwave. "Stay as long as you need." Prowl squeezed Sideswipe's shoulder and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Sideswipe?" He turned back at the last minute. "If you're feeling up to it, I'd like to take you on a date tonight. I think you made a very good point yesterday."

Prowl heard Sideswipe's processor crash.

* * *

Sideswipe was nervous plating and fidgeting fingers as he waited for Prowl outside the _Ark_ that evening. Prowl had been mum on the details, but he'd asked to meet Sideswipe after sunset. Sideswipe had confirmed and clarified: it was a _date_. A real date. A date with _Prowl_.

Sunstreaker had been happy for him, in his own way, when Sideswipe came with the flustered news. A coat of wax and a pep talk later, Sideswipe wasn't feeling any less nervous.

Prowl simply smiled at Sideswipe as the red twin stumbled to his side, seemingly forgetting how to use his legs and feet. "Ready?" Prowl gestured to the road.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." Prowl dropped into his alt mode with a twinkling smile, revving his engine. Sideswipe followed, and off they went, driving for over an hour. They ended up at the top of a mountain, curving through the winding switchbacks and steep passes until they were above the cloudbank. Overhead, the night sky shone brilliantly, and as they pulled to a stop, Sideswipe could finally see their destination.

A gaggle of humans clustered around an impressive array of astronomy equipment, surrounded by bulging RV's and camper trailers. One man waved at Prowl lazily, familiar with the Autobot. "Hey Prowl," he called. "Clear night tonight."

Prowl gazed overhead, nodding. "Gorgeous," he whispered back. His words carried across the mountain, passing easily through the crisp night air. He turned to Sideswipe. "Welcome to the Oregon Astronomy Association." He smiled, and his optics reflected the starlight.

Introductions were passed around, Sideswipe meeting the small group of humans, and then they settled in, gazing at the sky and peering through the telescopes. Some were as big as they were, others too small for them to hold or use. Prowl worked with one of the women to calculate the orbit of Cybertron, and then they were peering into the sky, searching for their lost planet. Sideswipe saw the rings of Saturn, the moons of Jupiter, and as the night wore on, the galactic arm, rising in the East.

"Wow," he whispered, sitting on the ground and leaning back. Prowl was next to him, shoulder to shoulder, their plating touching. "How many planets have you been to, Prowl?"

"A few." Prowl had led several expeditions for energy and resources to neighboring systems and planets. Most hadn't succeeded.

"This is the only planet I've been on besides home," Sideswipe whispered. "Tell me about other worlds?"

Prowl spoke quietly, telling Sideswipe of the different systems he'd seen, the planets, the few other races he'd met in their corner of the galaxy. Sideswipe was transfixed, hanging onto his every word, his optics glittering in the darkness.

"First one!" one of the men called out suddenly. "Watch for more! They'll be coming down tonight!"

"What is it?" Sideswipe stared at the sky.

"The Leonides. A meteor shower." Prowl spotted a streak of flame crossing the sky. "There. Did you see?" Sideswipe nodded, pointing out another.

"Don't forget to make a wish." Prowl gently bumped Sideswipe's shoulder, teasing him.

"What do I need to wish for?" Sideswipe grinned back at Prowl. "This is already a dream come true."

"Guess you don't want a good night kiss, then." Prowl gazed up at the sky as he smirked.

Instantly, Sideswipe was scanning the sky again. A meteor flared by a moment later, and he grinned, pointing it out. "Whew," he whispered. "Made my wish." They shared a long, gentle smile.

When they stumbled back to the _Ark_, exhausted and dirty from sitting on the ground, Prowl escorted Sideswipe back to his quarters. "Thank you for joining me," he said softly.

"I had a great time." Sideswipe swallowed. "I hope we can do that again."

"I want to." Prowl's optics burned into Sideswipe's. "I'd really like to."

Sideswipe's grin exploded, splitting his face. "Awesome," he whispered. He bit his lip again, sly. "How about my wish?" he asked, twisting lightly on his feet.

Chuckling, Prowl stepped close to Sideswipe. Their breaths intermingled, mixing together, and Prowl reached for Sideswipe's hand. He brought it up to his lips slowly and pressed a warm kiss to the center of his palm. "Thank you," Prowl breathed. "For everything."

Sideswipe tried to remember how to breathe as he stared into Prowl's optics. Prowl slowly lowered his hand, smiling, and turned to leave. Sideswipe watched him go before falling back against the bulkhead, a goofy grin spread across his face.

This was exactly what he'd always, always dreamed about.

* * *

**_Five Months after the Verdict:_**

Their first real kiss was almost a disaster, when it finally happened.

Their courtship was slow, very slow, and Sideswipe liked it that way. He'd dreamed of being with Prowl for so long that the reality of the experience was almost too much at times. He'd imagined passionate embraces, and fantasized about Prowl ravishing him after duty one day, when he just wanted him so badly he couldn't stand it. But now that they were actually dating, actually dancing around the subject itself, Sideswipe found that he was enjoying the slowness. The surety. The courtship. He was being pursued, in the most delicious way, by _Prowl_, of all mechs.

Prowl was courting him, formally, and that was just perfect for Sideswipe. The thought sent shocks throughout his body, leading to a slow burn, deep inside. Oh yes, he was loving everything about this.

Still, he wanted a kiss, a _real _kiss, and even though Prowl was treating him formally and with a respect Sideswipe had never seen, he still wanted – at times – to just let loose. For Prowl to grab him and kiss him, press him against the bulkhead and lean his body against Sideswipe's, heat and friction and pressure, and then, a hungry, hot kiss. Oh yes, he definitely wanted that as well.

That thought came with a following one, trepidation and uncertainty wrapped around a hesitancy. Still, he pushed that aside for now. All he wanted was a kiss.

It was late one night when Prowl was escorting Sideswipe back to his quarters after another date, another off-_Ark_ excursion. It had been fun, of course, perfect, of course, but Sideswipe had been staring at Prowl's lips too-long throughout the night, wanting to taste and feel their touch. He fidgeted as he walked, trying to engineer a possible kiss.

"Good night, Sideswipe," Prowl said, smiling as he stopped in front of the twins' quarters. "I had a fantastic time."

"Me too." Sideswipe grinned. "It's even better than my fantasies, you know."

Prowl's optic ridges spiked high. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Sideswipe nodded, still grinning. "Dating you. It's pretty incredible."

"I always try to do my best." Prowl was smiling, too, their teasing light and comfortable.

"There's something else I've been fantasizing about." Sideswipe's grin turned sly, his optics darkening.

"Really?" Prowl's voice lowered, and he stepped closer to Sideswipe, as if sharing a secret.

Sideswipe nodded, and then he moved, seizing the opportunity. He leaned forward, trying to press his lips against Prowl's in a swift, quick kiss, hoping for more. Unfortunately, Prowl was moving as well, trying to surprise Sideswipe in turn with a slow, sensuous kiss, and his hand was rising to cup Sideswipe's cheek.

Instead of the kiss both had hoped for, Prowl's fingers ended up jamming Sideswipe in the optics as Sideswipe hurriedly dropped a chaste and dry kiss to Prowl's scrunched-up nose. They backed away quickly, apologies and embarrassed gazes not meeting the other's. An awkward silence built.

"I can do better," Sideswipe finally said, turning back to Prowl. "Try again?" This time, Prowl took the lead, fixing his optics to Sideswipe and pinning him back, holding him still with his gaze. He stepped forward, their bodies brushing against each other, and both his hands rose to cup Sideswipe's helm. His thumbs stroked over Sideswipe's cheeks, rubbing down the soft, warm plating and the rounded fullness of his youthful face.

"Beautiful…" Prowl whispered, just before he closed the fractional distance between them and pressed a gentle kiss to Sideswipe's waiting, trembling lips. Sideswipe melted, his joints going weak as Prowl's lips closed over his own, warm, soft, and oh-so-good.

Prowl too, had wanted this – badly. More than he knew. The kiss turned from soft and sweet to heated in no time flat as Prowl backed Sideswipe against his door with a small grunt. Sideswipe's hands flew to Prowl's waist, dragging him closer as their plating scraped. Prowl growled behind his kiss, nipping at Sideswipe's lips. Sideswipe groaned, then nipped back, and finally twined his glossa with Prowl's. Their engines jumped, roaring, and Prowl pressed Sideswipe back again, trying to jump inside his plating. His hands held Sideswipe's helm, stroking, finally tasting the red twin.

"Evening, sir. Sideswipe." The extremely uncomfortable voice of Red Alert coming from the corridor as the security officer passed them by broke through the steadily steaming haze blazing through their processors. Prowl pulled back, breaking the kiss, and his doorwings flared wide. Still, he didn't step back and he didn't let go of Sideswipe's helm. Instead, his hand dropped to Sideswipe's neck, his thumb stroking over his pounding lines.

Sideswipe panted, staring back at him.

"Good night, Sideswipe," Prowl finally whispered. His optics were blazing, his engine rumbling, and he forced himself to step back. Sideswipe remained leaning against his door, dazed.

Prowl visibly drew himself together. He smiled again, peering at Sideswipe. "You know," he said after a moment. "That was better than I've fantasized about too."

Sideswipe beamed. That never failed to spark a similar smile in Prowl, and they stood in the corridor, beaming at each other for another long moment.

Finally, Prowl stepped back again, physically putting distance between him and Sideswipe. "Good night, Sideswipe," he repeated. He turned, walking away, but he glanced back over his shoulder at the end of the corridor. Sideswipe was still pressed against his door.

Sideswipe lazily palmed his way in after Prowl disappeared around the corner. Light from the corridor fell inside, cutting a line across the darkened room to Sunstreaker's berth.

Sideswipe waved at his brother. Sunstreaker was still online, sitting up in his berth and leaning against the bulkhead. He waited up for Sideswipe after every date, no matter the time. Resting next to him, one arm slung over Sunstreaker's waist, was Bluestreak, offline and recharging.

"How'd it go?" Sunstreaker grunted.

Sideswipe just grinned. His cheeks were aching from smiling so hard, and he didn't think he'd ever stop. "Perfect."

* * *

Soundwave watched Jazz across their quarters. Jazz was sitting up, as he normally did during the nights these days, silent and staring into space. Soundwave could feel the pain that Jazz was trying to dampen across their bond. Jazz wouldn't talk about it.

"Jazz." Silence.

Soundwave pushed himself up and crossed their quarters to Jazz's side and sat without saying a word. Jazz didn't turn to look at him, instead staring out of the tiny porthole window near the ceiling of the cabin, but his hand snaked over and grasped Soundwave's hand as hard as he could.

* * *

**_Five and a Half Months since the Verdict:_**

When the Decepticons returned, they made no secret of it. They blazed down from the sky, ships and weapons and lasers, everything blasting as they roared in from above. The humans were stunned, for a moment, but the Autobots had prepared for this, and they had prepared a joint counterstrike contingency for when the Decepticons returned. They fought back, pushing the Decepticons to their bases as best they could.

The war, it seemed was back on.

For Prowl, it was the first time he had had to fight with Sideswipe as his… partner? Dearly beloved? Dear friend? They weren't lovers, not yet, but were so much more than simply dating. Prowl felt that; he knew it was true, deep down in his spark. It came from the same place that Sideswipe said was the place he knew he was meant to love Prowl, and how he knew Primus was there with them. It was the place that knew that Sideswipe had given Prowl back his life and soul.

It had been difficult, watching Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in battle as they were, wild and dangerous. There wasn't any more jet judo, thanks to Jazz and Soundwave - for which, ironically, Prowl was grateful. Still, it was tank-wrenching, and Prowl had to physically touch Sideswipe at the end of the battle – dirty, grimy and covered in soot and dirt – to make sure that Sideswipe was alright.

Jazz and Soundwave stayed on the _Ark_, helping Red Alert on the Command Deck as much as they could. Jazz helped with aerial recon. Soundwave tried to hack the Decepticon communication frequencies.

The next day, Prime formally asked Soundwave and Jazz to align themselves with the Autobots, not as Autobots, but as a separate faction, their own persons. Prime asked for Soundwave's help with the intelligence, and Jazz's help with assisting their Special Operations. Soundwave agreed first. Jazz nodded silently after a long moment.

* * *

**_Six Months after the Verdict:_**

The Decepticons were relentless in their attacks. They were constantly pressing, constantly trying to cause chaos. There didn't seem to be a pattern or a design, however. Prime spent long hours in strategy meetings with Prowl, Ironhide, Red Alert, Jazz, and Soundwave as they struggled to understand the new phase of the Decepticons' strategy.

They were surprised once, the Decepticons re-attacking a previous target as they were trying to investigate the after-battle intelligence. "Incoming!" Soundwave had shouted, warning everyone. His superior sensors had detected the incoming Seekers before anyone else.

They dove, scattering. Prime called for backup as Ironhide began firing away. Jazz hunkered down with Red Alert, taking cover. Prowl was with Soundwave across the battlefield where the two had been searching through wreckages for any sort of clue as to the Decepticons' actions. Ahead, the Seekers circled, firing down at the Autobots huddled for cover.

"It's only a trine!" Ironhide hollered.

"Only?" Red Alert called for backup, summoning the entire _Ark._

Prowl tried to fire, catching sight of the flashing colors of Dirge, Thrust, and Ramjet. He dove back down at Ironhide started firing again, trading off with the older mech. "You're old friends were waiting for us to come back," Prowl grunted at Soundwave.

"Affirmative." Soundwave's gaze was torn between the advancing Seekers and Jazz.

"Any advice?" Prowl grunted, rising to fire. His shots were close, but the Seekers were spinning wildly, evading their shots. Dirge fired back on Prowl, uncomfortably close, and he ducked back down behind the outbuilding he and Soundwave were using for cover.

Frowning, Soundwave glared skyward. "Target: ventral plating, aft third. Major transformation seam. Critical target."

"Thanks." Prowl rose to fire again, but this time, Thrust was waiting for him. As Prowl stood, Thrust fired, and the shot impacted Prowl square in the chest. He grunted, stumbling backward, and his rifle clattered out of his hands, falling to the ground. Soundwave scrabbled for it as he dragged Prowl back behind their building.

"Prowl!" Prime shouted, but the Seekers started firing again, punishing laser fire raining down on every position. Red Alert called for medical aid and a quick shuttle evacuation for Prowl. Distantly, the sirens and sounds of the approaching Autobots could be heard.

Prowl grunted again, hissing against the pain as his engine struggled to burn. His vents struggled, shallow, and he knew he had a major leak. Soundwave hovered over Prowl. He still held Prowl's rifle clutched in his hands, and when Dirge fired on their position again, Soundwave returned fire.

_Figures,_ Prowl thought. Distantly, he could hear Sideswipe's engine roaring, then this voice, but his processor was crashing and taking him offline, and his engine was choking, his vents stuttering. Soundwave continued firing, protecting Prowl from the Seekers as Ratchet raced to their sides. _Figures Soundwave would be the one to save me in the end. _

Everything went black.

When Prowl onlined, much, much later, there was a large static bandage covering his exposed chest and soft hands were stroking a warm cleaning cloth over his face and helm. He mumbled, pressing into the touches, and forced his optics to online.

Jazz was standing next to his berth, cleaning rag clutched nervously in one hand and a small bowl of hot water in the other. He stared down at Prowl, his visor overbright. "Hey you," Jazz whispered. He tried to smile.

"Hey Jazz," Prowl whispered back. His voice was scratchy, harsh, and he coughed.

"How are you feeling?" Jazz dipped the rag in the bowl and started gently scrubbing at a streak of grime on Prowl's arm in slow, soft strokes.

"Still numb," Prowl answered, shaking his helm. "I think I'm still dreaming."

Jazz grimaced, though he tried to transform it into a fake smile. "No, you're online," He whispered. "I'm really here."

Silence. Then, "Why?" Prowl reached across his body – with some effort, and a grimace of his own – and stilled Jazz's hand. "What's wrong?"

Jazz tossed a wry, panic-edged look Prowl's way. "Primus, Prowl," he breathed. "What isn't wrong?" Prowl didn't speak. "I was prepared to pay, you know," Jazz croaked. "I was prepared to pay for my crimes. My choices." He nodded, though his voice was cracking and static had filled his words. "I wasn't ready for this." His hand waved through the air listlessly.

"What?" Prowl asked. "What weren't you prepared for?"

"Living." Jazz swallowed, forcing himself to keep going. He set down the bowl and the rag with practiced, particular movements, controlling every motion with obsessive diligence. "Having to live with it. What I did."

Prowl stared at Jazz, taking in his dulled plating, his exhaustion, his defeated and dejected and downtrodden frame. "Do you regret your decisions?" Prowl asked softly. "Bonding?"

Jazz had been nodding, not looking at Prowl, looking down, but he stopped at Prowl's last word. "No," he said, forcing himself to look up into Prowl's optics. "I don't regret that. I think that's all that's kept me here," he said breathlessly.

"Jazz…"

"You seem happy, Prowl," Jazz interrupted. "You seem very happy. With Sideswipe."

They hadn't kept their burgeoning relationship a secret. Prowl nodded. "I am."

"Primus, I almost took that from you, Prowl. What I did, my choices, almost killed Sideswipe, and that would have taken this from you. You may never have known-" Jazz swallowed, trying hold everything together. He was so close to falling apart. "Because of me."

A small part of Prowl's processor was too tired for this conversation, and it reacted basely. _Now he thinks of his actions_, his processor grunted. Still, he pushed that aside. He'd made strides against the darkness within him, great strides. "Jazz, we all make our choices," Prowl said carefully. "We all make choices, and then we have to live with them."

"But I didn't want to live with mine," Jazz whispered. He looked down. He was two breaths from flying apart. "I was ready to die. It was like you said, before," Jazz trailed off. "The eternity of falling is much worse than the quick death." His words were choked and rough. "I wish I had died."

"Well, that didn't happen," Prowl said, both lightness and heaviness in his voice. "We didn't want you to die, Jazz."

"_Why_?" Jazz's optics were pleading, burning behind his visor and begging to understand. "Why?"

Prowl sighed and he shifted, trying to turn toward Jazz. He reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. It was familiar and warm, but gone were the days when that action had sent shockwaves through Prowl body and soul. "Because you are still loved, Jazz," Prowl said simply. "We all have a past. We all have made our choices. Soundwave had his that led to his choices. I, in my life, made my choices, did what I did, before the Autobots. You, Jazz, made your choices." He paused, sighing. He was still so tired. "What matters is how we live with the choices, Jazz," Prowl said softly.

Jazz was silent, his optics bleeding light beneath his surging visor.

"I thought I wouldn't be able to live with the choice to forgive Soundwave and you," Prowl whispered. "Instead, it's the most freeing choice I ever made in my life." Prowl shook his helm. "You can never escape what you've done, Jazz," Prowl said, squeezing Jazz's hand and bringing it to his bandaged chest. "But you have to make it a part of your history. Don't drag your ghosts into the future."

"Some days I feel like I am already a ghost," Jazz breathed. His hand was shaking in Prowl's grip.

Prowl squeezed again, not letting go. "You're _not_, Jazz. And only you are doing that to yourself. Let Soundwave in. Let him help. I know he's trying to reach you."

Jazz turned, looking over his shoulder at another berth. Prowl frowned. "Soundwave," Jazz grunted, trying to control his surging emotions. "He was shot covering you and Ratchet."

"Will he be alright?" Prowl was genuinely concerned, surprising even himself.

Jazz nodded. "You were hurt worse. He'll online soon."

Prowl squeezed Jazz's hand again, smiling, and they held each other's gazes for a long moment.

"I owe you my life," Jazz finally whispered. "I owe you both of our lives."

"You owe me nothing," Prowl whispered. "I already forgave you. You need to forgive yourself." Jazz looked down quickly, but his head bobbed as if he was nodding, or sobbing.

The medbay doors slid open a moment later, fracturing the silence and the mood. Jazz's helm whipped up, staring at the intruder. Prowl rolled, gingerly, in case he fell apart, and they both met the deeply confused optics of Sideswipe, staring at their conjoined hands.

Jazz was silent. He hadn't spoken to the red twin in over six months, not since he'd tried to kill him while Sideswipe was helping Prowl help Jazz rescue Soundwave. And before that, when he'd helped try to kill him by proxy. Jazz shook his helm, looking away.

"Sideswipe," Prowl smiled, his voice warm, and Jazz's spark gave another lurch. Primus, but Prowl truly was happy. He'd nearly robbed Prowl of this happiness, this love. He tried to pull away, tried to pry his fingers from Prowl's, suddenly too close to everything. He couldn't be near Sideswipe, couldn't stand to face him.

Prowl wouldn't let go of his hand. Sideswipe crossed the medbay slowly, standing at Prowl's side opposite Jazz. His optics flickered over their entwined fingers before rising to Prowl's face. He smiled, though it was thin. "How are you?" Sideswipe asked. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier." He was unwashed, still grimy from the battle. Sideswipe's optics moved to Jazz. "Hey Jazz," he said softly. He smiled. "How are you?"

Jazz froze, staring at Sideswipe. "I'm, um,…" Jazz stammered, unable to think of what to say.

A noise from Soundwave's berth drew Jazz's attention. He turned, his helm whipping around. Soundwave was onlining. "Excuse me," Jazz mumbled, slipping his hand from Prowl's grip.

"Jazz," Prowl called. "Please. Remember what I said. You're going to be alright." Jazz nodded, slowly, once, unconvinced.

"Jazz?" Sideswipe spoke now, calling out. "We're having a movie night this weekend. Why don't you come? You both, I mean." Sideswipe smiled. "Haven't seen you in a while."

This time there was a long pause before Jazz nodded, once, slowly. He turned and moved to Soundwave's side just as Soundwave started to online.

Prowl reached for Sideswipe's hand, and as their fingers twined together, he felt that feeling, that spark-deep feeling, deep in his body and soul. He smiled up at Sideswipe, sighing happily. "I'm happy you are here," he whispered. His optics were fading, his exhaustion peaking, but Prowl squeezed Sideswipe's hand again.

Sideswipe's optics blazed as he grinned, biting his lip. "I'll always be here, Prowl."

Prowl's optics faded as he whispered "I know." He dragged Sideswipe's hand up to his lips, dropping a kiss to the backs of his fingers. He slipped offline with a happy smile.

* * *

That Saturday night, Sideswipe organized a movie night with Bluestreak and Bumblebee. Bumblebee had the best sources for grabbing first run copies of movies, and no one had ever figured out how he did it. Still, they happily profited, watching many movies on their opening weekend from the comfort of the _Ark. _Bumblebee had grabbed the new superhero movie for the occasion, and he was setting it up and bickering good-naturedly with Hound as Jazz and Soundwave slowly entered the room. The mechs' helms turned, swiveling to stare at the two as their voices died, fading to nothing.

_This was a terrible idea,_ Jazz thought, his gears turning. _I never should have let Soundwave talk me into this._ Soundwave's hand rose, pressing against his back, sensing his turmoil.

"Jazz." Prowl's warm voice, rising from the tables, drew everyone's attention. Prowl stood, smiling. "I'm glad you came." He waved to empty seats at the table. "Join us?" Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were with him, all engaged in a Levels _battle royale_. The constructions were half-finished, some veering on disaster.

Soundwave and Jazz shared a long look in silence before they moved to join their game. To the mechs' credit, they acted as if nothing unusual had happened and that the appearance and arrival of Soundwave and Jazz was as normal as anything else. "Should we start over or deal them in?" Bluestreak peered at his pending assault on Sunstreaker's wobbly fortress.

"That wouldn't be fair," Sideswipe protested. "We should start over." Sideswipe grinned at Jazz. "They need to start from the ground up."

Prowl nodded, pulling down his pieces. "I agree. Start over." Sunstreaker groaned, and Bluestreak flicked at his tower, helping him to dispose of the pieces. He grinned as Sunstreaker glared. "Are there any particular Decepticon rules for this game, Soundwave?" Prowl finished stacking his pieces as he looked up, smirking. "I don't believe I've asked you yet."

Soundwave paused, organizing his game pieces. "Decepticon alterations to rules: much high grade needed." His optics glowed behind his visor, and even though Prowl couldn't see his expression behind his blastmask, he still guessed that Soundwave might be grinning.

"Ooh, those sound like rules I could get behind." Sideswipe grinned, flicking his optic ridges. Sunstreaker chuckled.

"Alright, you miscreants," Prowl teased. "Are we ready to start?"

The movie played in the background as they went through their game. Sideswipe executed a perfect dual attack on Prowl and Sunstreaker, but left himself open to Soundwave's sly moves. Jazz and Bluestreak warred with each other as Prowl, who had been playing with Soundwave on and off for months now, laid siege to Soundwave's fortress. Something unwound within Jazz as they played, laughing and poking fun at each other's moves and structures, and in the friendly banter that passed easily between the mechs. Soundwave was mostly quiet, but his happiness flowed across their bond, and, to Jazz, that was worth more than anything in the world.

_It may actually be all right,_ he thought. _We may actually get through this._ He looked up, catching sight of Sideswipe's happy optics gazing at Prowl, and his vents shorted once again. Shame slipped into his spark, followed by his crushing, paralyzing darkness.

A moment later, Sideswipe turned his grin to Jazz. "Your move, Jazz," he said happily, still smiling. He was oblivious to Jazz's inner turmoil, but his easy, simple happiness, his effervescent friendliness touched the coldest part of Jazz's guilt.

"I'm sorry," Jazz blurted out suddenly, interrupting the game. "I'm sorry. For what I did. To you. To all of you." Jazz looked quickly at the twins and Bluestreak before staring down.

Silence hung in the air for only a second. "That was a long time ago," Sunstreaker grunted, jumping his turn to attack Jazz's fortress.

Sideswipe nodded, and he kicked Jazz gently under the table. "It's going to be alright, Jazz," he said. Even Bluestreak nodded, a small smile on his lips. "We're all going to be alright."

They finished before the end of the movie – a draw, by consensus, as most structures were in ruins – and the group headed over to the one empty couch in the corner to watch the end of the film.

Soundwave perched on one end, carefully sitting down and taking up as little space as possible. Jazz, riding some wave of giddy hope and a true belief that things might actually be all right, flopped down on the couch, stretching out and resting his helm on Soundwave's thigh. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak ensconced themselves together on a chair made for one, but no one batted an optic – they'd been inseparable for months now, glued plating to plating. It was half-cute and half sappy-disgusting, as Sideswipe told Prowl.

Sideswipe, however, wanted the couch too, and he shoved at Jazz's legs. "Ja-zz, move over!"

Jazz stretched, being petulantly playful, until Soundwave reached down and physically dragged Jazz up into his lap, freeing the couch. Jazz sputtered, tuning on Soundwave as he perched on his thighs, but Soundwave's arms closed around his waist and a soft look settled in his optics. Jazz quieted, smiling, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Soundwave's blastmask.

Prowl, watching the entire exchange, shook his helm. To him, Soundwave looked almost as impassive as ever, but there was a tiny light in his optics, one that Jazz could read, and one that Prowl had come to associate with Jazz's presence. It hadn't seemed possible six months before, but here he was, understanding the former Decepticon, now an ally, as they watched a movie together.

Sideswipe had claimed the free space on the couch and waved Prowl over to join him. Prowl sat, and Sideswipe instantly folded himself into his arms, letting his helm rest against Prowl's chest as Prowl's arm wrapped around his shoulder. A thrill ran through Prowl's body. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Sideswipe's forehelm. Sideswipe sighed, almost purring with quiet happiness.

Later, Prowl pushed gently on Sideswipe's shoulder, nudging him up. "Let's get out of here," Prowl whispered. His optics were sparkling. Sideswipe nodded and followed as Prowl rose and turned to leave. Behind him, Prowl caught sight of Jazz. Their optics locked together, sharing a long, meaningful look. Jazz nodded once, a small smile playing over his lips. Prowl nodded back.

He left then, joining Sideswipe in the corridor as Jazz rubbed his hand down Soundwave's cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his forehelm.

* * *

"Where do you want to go?" Sideswipe asked Prowl as they walked down the hallway. Prowl laced their fingers together and brought his hand up to his lips, kissing the plating gently. He didn't answer, kept walking.

Finally, they stopped at Prowl's quarters, and Prowl turned to face Sideswipe. He smiled, warm and soft, and looked Sideswipe from helm to feet. "Primus, you're beautiful," Prowl whispered.

Sideswipe engine surged. "So are you." He squeezed Prowl's hand. In all the time they'd dated, he hadn't done anything more than kiss. Nothing else, not even a hint. Sideswipe had never pressed for more.

"Stay the night?" Prowl asked softly. His thumbs stroked over Sideswipe's palms, rubbing soft circles into his warm plating.

Sideswipe's gears clenched, his mouth going dry. He stuttered, looking away, and he squeezed at Prowl's hands, too tight. "Prowl…" he whispered. "_Primus_, I want to, I do." He swallowed, his optics brightening. "It's just… This part _never_ goes right for me, and I _don't_ want to lose this." It was his greatest fear.

Prowl smiled and cupped Sideswipe's cheek. "We won't," Prowl said softly. "I _know_ who you are, Sideswipe. I _want_ to make love to you." He smiled again as Sideswipe hissed, drawing in a quick breath. "I want to give this to you. Share this together." He kissed him, chaste and gentle. "What do you want?"

"You." Sideswipe didn't hesitate. "I _want_ you, Prowl. I _love_ you."

Prowl smiled, leaning close for another kiss. "And I love you, Sideswipe," he whispered, just before their lips closed over one another.

After that, it was hot kisses and backing their way into Prowl's quarters. They kissed their way across the room, hands stroking and petting and exploring, until finally Prowl backed Sideswipe up against his berth. Sideswipe fell backward as the backs of his knees hit the berth edge, landing with a soft grunt. Prowl smiled down, leaning over slowly for a languorous kiss. Sideswipe's arm wound around his neck, gently guiding Prowl on to the berth above him. Prowl knelt over his body, knees spread on either side of Sideswipe, hands resting next to his audials. "You are so beautiful," Prowl whispered, gazing down at Sideswipe's perfect face. "How did I not notice all these years?"

Sideswipe shrugged, grinning. "You know now."

"You are too good to me." Prowl bent for another kiss, this time letting his body press into Sideswipe. Sideswipe groaned, his engine surging, and he hungrily poured himself back into the kiss. Prowl's engine roared as well, and their plating pressed together, bodies rubbing in the most perfect way.

Sideswipe groaned, long, loud, and guttural. Prowl dragged Sideswipe's pleasure out to long, untimed lengths, raking sensations back and forth. Sideswipe threw his helm back, his mouth open, optics offline, and harsh, ragged pants burst from his lips as his body trembled beneath Prowl.

It didn't take long to bring Sideswipe to his first overload, and Prowl watched in awe, his spark nearly erupting with joy as Sideswipe shrieked, shaking near apart on the berth. The image burned itself into Prowl's processor, searing into the backs of his optics. _Primus, I love you_, Prowl thought_. Let me give you this. Let me give you this, as you've given me so much. _

He pressed close then, kissing Sideswipe in every which way, hot kisses to his lips, cheeks, optics, forehelm and neck as Sideswipe slowly came down from his high.

"Primus," Sideswipe finally croaked, his shaking hands clutching at Prowl's arms. "I can't even … _Prowl_…."

"I want to make love to you all night long, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered. His voice was raw, grinding over gears stoked with passion and emotion. "I want to make love to you every night, every day. I want to bring you so much joy."

Sideswipe's optics burst to white, glowing. "You do," he whispered, wrapping his arms around Prowl's neck. "You already do."

"I love you, Sideswipe," Prowl whispered, as if speaking a prayer. "You gave me back my soul."

Sideswipe breathed Prowl's name and went rigid, nearly overloading from the thought, the reality alone, of Prowl making love to him. Prowl, too, nearly overloaded on the spot. It was different, oh so very different, when there was so much love. Nothing could compare, nothing.

They gasped, rocking together, kisses and hands and whispers falling on every inch of plating they could reach. Prowl gasped, pressing as close as he could to Sideswipe's body and soul. Sideswipe shivered, dizzy. What new reality was this, where all his dreams came true?

Prowl pressed a long, lazy kiss to Sideswipe's lips, panting. Twin smiles broke over their faces, delight and love and joy echoing between themselves.

It was not the last time they made love that night.

For the first time in recorded memory, Prowl was late for his duty shift the next day.

And he didn't care at all.

* * *

It was late night, and Soundwave was online this time, staring out the tiny porthole window he and Jazz had built into Jazz's quarters. It was propped open, waiting for Laserbeak's return. The moon was high in the sky, full and bloated, and harsh shadows grew at odd angles out of the desert night. A slip of moonlight spilled into the cabin, framing Soundwave's body.

Jazz sat on the berth, watching his lover. For the first time in months, they had made love again, and it was as stupendous and momentous as Jazz had ever remembered. He felt alive again, in some small way, but he hadn't wanted that before. It hadn't been right to feel. It hadn't been right to be alive. Prowl's words hung in the back of his mind, though, along with his and Sideswipe's smile. Maybe he could find a way through this. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept seeing their smiles, he could learn to live with this.

A caw broke his reverie. Jazz turned toward Soundwave as Laserbeak fluttered through the porthole, landing on Soundwave's outstretched arm. He dropped a data pad into Soundwave's open hand, then chirped softly.

"Another one?" Jazz asked.

Soundwave nodded. He onlined the pad and read it silently. He didn't react, but Jazz could feel the roiling currents of dread and torment coursing over their bond.

"What does it say?"

"Thundercracker: working on discerning Megatron's plans. Unable to provide much intelligence." Soundwave paused, frowning. "He is fearful of this new plan. It is different. More grand."

Jazz nodded, frowning. Soundwave tossed the pad onto their berth and sighed, turning to look out the open porthole again. "What do you want to do?" Jazz finally asked.

"Tomorrow: must inform Prowl," Soundwave said. "Keeping secrets from Prowl: not acceptable."

"I agree." Jazz held out his hand, reaching for Soundwave. A moment later, Soundwave turned to his lover and sank down into the berth. He leaned against Jazz, pressing his forehelm against his neck.

"War: undesirable," Soundwave grunted.

"There's still hope, you know," Jazz whispered. The moonlight slid across the floor, changing course with the night and the shifting clouds. "We still can change things, you know. Thundercracker, he's still an ally. And now, with Prowl and the Autobots…" Jazz let his words trail off. "We still have a chance to end this war."

Soundwave was silent for a long time. "Tomorrow," he finally said. "Tomorrow. Inform Prowl." He sighed, reaching for Jazz's hand. "The day after: possibilities."

Jazz smiled, cupping Soundwave's cheek. He gently guided Soundwave's face to his, pressing a kiss to his troubled lips. Soundwave murmured, kissing back as he cupped Jazz's face in return. Slowly they fell back to the berth, tangling together in arms and legs and lips and moans until there was nothing but the moonlight and the glow of their sparks and the soft gasps of their lovemaking for the rest of the night.

They all had the power to remake their lives, to change them and bend them to their will. They could hate, they could love, they could forgive. They could change, and in changing one life, one spark, one at a time, they could change the world, step by step.

Tomorrow they'd take another step toward their future. The day after, they'd work on ending the war. All of it, change.

But for now, it was just the two of them, together.

Perfect.

* * *

_Songs:_

_God's Gonna Cut You Down, Johnny Cash_

_ watch?v=_IHxG8VkiQA_

_There is Hope for You, William Elliot Whitmore_

_ watch?v=C6fx9pe1Utk_


End file.
